Bring on the Rain
by MrsFWDarcy
Summary: "Of all the gin joints in the all the world..." The years following the Second Wizarding War have not been kind to Draco or Hermione, but a chance encounter 11 yrs later changes their lives forever. This is going to be a slow burn. Rated M for a reason!
1. Of all the gin joints in all the world

**Bring on the Rain**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am a mere mortal cowering in the wake of JKR's genius. **

**Chapter 1 - Of all the gin joints in all the world **

Draco Malfoy was irritated; irritated because he'd had a terrible day at the office, irritated because instead of going home to his flat for some peace, quiet and a stiff drink he was standing in front of a dingy little pub waiting to meet some blasted witch at the request of his mother. Mostly he was irritated because on top of everything else it was bloody raining; torrential downpour would perhaps be a more accurate description. Glancing at his watch he noticed that he still had fifteen minutes before his date was scheduled to arrive…this irritated him as well; Draco Malfoy was never late. The importance of punctuality had been drilled into him from a very young age. His father had often said, "_Remember Draco: To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late and to be late is to be killed_." That last bit had proven only too true for a few unfortunate house elves over the years, but today, for Draco at least, to be early was to be wet and this irritated him even further.

Deciding it was ridiculous to continue standing outside in the chilly rain he turned his back on the busy street where hordes of muggles pushed past him as though he were invisible and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Though he detested the idea of being seen in such a place, it would at least give him somewhere warm and dry to wait, he reasoned grimly. He stopped just inside the door where he deposited his umbrella in the little stand, pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his cloak and performed a quick drying spell in order to remove all evidence of the inclement weather from his otherwise immaculate black robes. Taking in his surroundings with an air of supreme distaste he scanned the room in the vain hope that she might be early so that he could get the bloody date over with and put an end to this wretched day.

Draco hated blind dates. In fact the only thing he hated more than blind dates at present was the idea of being late for one. Though she wasn't exactly _late_ yet, at least not in the strictest sense of the word, his annoyance with the whole business rendered him devoid of any charitable feelings toward her and he therefore presumed she inevitably would be, late that is. Under normal circumstances he would never permit his mother (or anyone else for that matter) to set him up with an unknown witch, despite the plethora of charming qualities she was said to possess. In this case however, he was meeting the daughter of a very wealthy and highly influential wizard who worked in the French Ministry's Département de Coopération Magique Internationale. Draco hoped that by 'greasing the cauldron' a bit with the daughter, whose name he couldn't recall at present, he might make her father more amenable to signing off on the International Wizarding Trade Agreement that had been held up in negotiations for the last three months.

Of course, Narcissa Malfoy had no real interest in Draco's business ventures so long as they continued to provide enough income to maintain the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. The only reason she bothered to mention the young lady's father at all was because Narcissa knew that it was the only way Draco would even consider indulging her little scheme - which is precisely what it was. This was just another in a long line of thinly veiled attempts to try to set him up with a nice young witch in the hope that he would finally settle down and get married. Though he assured his mother time and time again that he had no intention of getting married until it was absolutely necessary, his assertions fell on deaf ears.

She had been badgering him at the breakfast table that very morning in fact. At the memory of her words, Draco was able to pinpoint the start of his bad mood.

"_Time is running out darling. You realize that your twenty-ninth birthday is fast approaching - only three months away – and you're no closer to announcing your engagement than you were five years ago."_

_Draco had reminded her for what seemed like the hundredth time, "Well mother, since I don't technically need to be married until I turn thirty, I see no reason to rush into things." _

"_Rush! Draco, darling, it takes time to plan a proper society wedding and if you wait much longer to announce an engagement… you know as well as I do what it will look like. The stipulations of your father's will are not unlike other wizarding wills. People will think that you're only marrying for the inheritance."_

"_That is, in fact, precisely why I agreed to this ridiculous arrangement and I don't give a damn who knows it."_

"_Draco. I am still your mother and you will not speak to me with such language. Need I remind you that you have an obligation to this family? I lost everything after your father…"_

Oh here we go_, Draco thought inwardly. _

_His mother never ceased harping on about his broken engagement to Asteria Greengrass. It's not as if it had been his doing. He had barely ever spoken to the girl. They had been betrothed since he was four years old, but when Lucius was sent to Azkaban, Asteria's mother Phoebe cancelled the contract, fearing that a union with the disgraced Malfoys would sully their good name and jeopardize their place in society. Draco had been delighted by the news but his mother had been devastated and immediately embarked on a non-stop search for a new bride for her son. _

"…_and I will not lose my home and everything we've worked for as well."_

_Draco refrained from scoffing at her use of the word 'we' with extreme difficulty._

"_You _will_ marry Draco…within the allotted time frame," she finished, emphasizing the last words._

"_Believe it or not, Mother, I am perfectly capable of comprehending the particulars of father's will and I am well aware of my obligations to the family…obligations you seem to feel the need to remind me of every time I see you. Can we please talk about something else now?" he pleaded, but the Malfoy matriarch would not be deterred. _

"_Perhaps if you hadn't done such an admirable job of lowering my expectations I wouldn't need to remind you quite you so often. Really Draco, at this point I would be delighted if you would so much as deign to be seen with the same witch on more than one occasion. _TheProphet_ has been printing some very unflattering articles about your 'womanizing' recently. It's embarrassing. How am I supposed to show my face in decent society when my only son is out gallivanting through London with any number of…" _

_He had tuned out her tirade. He knew better than to try and argue with her once she got going. _

Trying to keep his frustration with his mother in check, he glanced around the smoky room once more. He didn't even know what this woman was supposed to look like. Not seeing anyone who looked as uncomfortable or out of place as he felt, he resigned himself once again to the fact that she hadn't arrived yet. He inwardly cursed himself for agreeing to meet her here of all places. This woman, he really ought to figure out her name at some point, was apparently unfamiliar with wizarding London and therefore unable to apparate directly into the more fashionable depths of Diagon Alley.

He began to feel awkward standing about with nothing to do, so he strode purposefully over to the bar taking care not to touch anything as the place looked positively filthy. It was fairly crowded and most of the seats at the bar had been taken. He squeezed between two rather unpleasant looking men, cleared his throat in a slightly pompous manner and addressed the man behind the bar.

"Excuse me, but I'm expecting a young woman to meet me here shortly. Please let me know when she arrives and be sure to get her name."

"Yes of course Mr. Malfoy, sir. Somefing to drink while you wait?"

He paused, glancing at his watch in impatience before responding. "Fine then. I'll have a Firewhiskey."

"Very good sir. Righ' away sir."

He handed Draco the amber liquid in a glass that looked as though it had never been washed. Draco thanked him grudgingly and paid for his drink. He noticed an empty seat at the far end of the bar and with drink in hand, made his way over to the back of the tiny pub. The smoke was thicker here and the acrid smell added to the general gloom. At least from this vantage point he would have a good view of the door and would be able to see his date as soon as she arrived. He didn't want to spend any more time in this depressing dump of a bar than was strictly necessary.

He approached the far end of the bar, pulled out the only remaining stool, performed an inconspicuous cleaning spell and seated himself between a large, beefy man wearing a horribly stained shirt who was smoking a foul-smelling pipe, and a slender woman who had long honey colored curls fastened loosely at the nape of her neck. He wondered briefly if this could be his date, but then noticed the large number of empty glasses in front of her in addition to her distinctly muggle attire and thought better of it. The woman didn't take the slightest notice of him when he sat. She seemed to be lost in thought, staring into the bottom of her empty glass as though she were searching for answers.

There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but her face was partially obscured by a few stray curls so Draco couldn't place her. She wore a somber knee-length black dress underneath a long, black overcoat that still had a few flecks of rain dotted across the shoulders. Though he knew little about muggle fashion she appeared to be well dressed, if only slightly disheveled. Draco sipped at his drink pondering how he could possibly know her. He didn't typically associate with people who dressed in muggle clothing, especially in public. Just then, she looked up and raised her hand slightly to get the attention of the man behind the bar. She still didn't register that anyone had occupied the seat next to hers, but the moment she lifted her head Draco realized exactly who she was.

"Granger?"

She turned to look at him with a curious expression on her face, but didn't respond.

It had been well over ten years since he last saw her face, but he remembered it like it was yesterday….

_He was waiting to address the Wizengamot in the largest court room at the Ministry of Magic. The room was filled to bursting with those seeking justice against The Dark Lord's followers. The Malfoy family had always been among the most prestigious of the wizarding elite, so naturally this trial had been particularly well-publicized. He imagined that most of the people were there so that they could witness the downfall of the Malfoys first-hand. _

_In accordance with wizarding law, Draco was given the opportunity to speak in his own defense in an attempt to keep both he and his mother (who was too distraught to speak for herself) out of Azkaban. However, the looks of contempt that poured in from every direction did not strengthen his resolve. His father had already been sentenced to twenty-five years imprisonment for a litany of crimes, the most egregious being attempted murder and use of the Imperius curse, but there was also the torturing of countless muggles and wizards, conspiring against the Ministry, as well as aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. In addition to the sentence in Azkaban, Lucius had also been forced to pay huge reparations to the Ministry and all of the families who were affected by his actions and associations. _

_When he learned about his father's sentence Draco allowed himself a glimmer of hope that perhaps his mother might be spared as she committed no crime other than feigning loyalty to a lunatic who had taken over her home and threatened her life on a daily basis, though he held no such optimism for his own situation. After facilitating the infiltration of the Death Eaters into Hogwarts two years ago, resulting in the death of Albus Dumbledore, Draco expected nothing less than a death sentence. However, with mouth dry and hands shaking, he mustered what little dignity and courage he had left and stood to face the angry crowd. _

_He had very little memory of what he said in his own defense. He vaguely remembered pleading with the court on behalf of his mother and thinking that the Wizengamot did not look particularly convinced. Then Minister Shacklebolt stood up and asked if anyone would bear witness for the either of the accused. The room went completely silent. Draco stared out at the sneering crowd feeling the last of his resolve ebbing away. His gaze fell upon a familiar face. Hermione Granger, looking somber, rose slowly from her seat and made her way down the aisle to stand before the court. As she passed by him their eyes locked for the briefest moment, her expression unreadable. His heart sank as she took her place on the witness stand. He swallowed hard, anticipating that one word from her would hammer the final nail into his coffin. The whole crowd watched in amazement as she stood determinedly before the Wizengamot._

"_I, Hermione Jean Granger, would like to speak on behalf of Draco Malfoy." _

_There was an audible gasp at her words and furious muttering erupted all across the courtroom. Kingsley banged a gavel on the highest bench where he sat overlooking the proceedings and shouted over the din._

"_Order! I will have order in this courtroom." _

_The muttering ceased at once and he gestured for Hermione to continue. Looking only slightly discomfited she went on. _

"_Last Easter, I was among several resistance fighters who were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor. During our imprisonment, Draco Malfoy lied to a room full of Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, in an attempt to protect the identities of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and myself at great personal risk."_

"_Is this true, Ms. Granger?" Shacklebolt asked her._

"_Of course Minister. Harry and Ron will both attest to the truth of my statement" and she looked at them almost pleadingly. _

_Draco stared at her in utter incredulity. Before he even had time to register the meaning of what Granger had just said, both Potter and Weasley stood up to corroborate her story adding that he had also tried to stop Vincent Crabbe from killing them all in the Room of Requirement. _

"_Minister," Potter said, "I would also like to bear witness on behalf of Narcissa Black Malfoy." _

_With the exception of his mother, who was visibly shaking with silent tears, the rest of the courtroom had gone completely still, awaiting Potter's next words. Draco hardly dared to breathe. _

"_On the morning of the final battle, Narcissa Malfoy lied to Voldermort and his entire army of Death Eaters in order to protect me while I was at their mercy in the forbidden forest. She told them that I was dead when she knew that I was not. She saved my life. Her only concern was for her son Draco. I assure you she had no intention to fight alongside the Death Eaters. She merely followed them to the castle to find her son."_

_The next few minutes were a blur to Draco. He remembered watching in desperation as the Wizengamot voted, the sigh of relief he was too afraid to release when he heard, barely audible over the roar of the disapproving crowd and the ringing in his ears, that in light of the new testimony both he and his mother had been acquitted. Through it all, the only clear memory he had of that moment was staring into the blank eyes of Hermione Granger. _

They stared at one another now, for a long moment and Draco took in her familiar features. Her face had lost some of its roundness; her delicate bone structure was more pronounced than it once was giving her a womanly appearance that was not wholly unappealing, he conceded. There was something else… He didn't know if it was perhaps still wet from the rain or if it was simply the weight of her nearly waist-length hair, but her curls were no longer the frizzy mop that used to sit atop her head. They looked sleeker, smoother and hung somewhat limply down her back. The most noticeable difference however, was her eyes. They were slightly red and puffy, as though she'd been crying and they seemed rather empty. Gone was that inquisitive spark that used to light up her hazel, almond-shaped eyes.

After a moment that seemed to stretch on for several lifetimes, she spoke.

"Draco Malfoy." It wasn't a question. "Of all the gin joints in all the world..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind." She chuckled to herself, shaking her head.

She studied his face for another long moment. The awkwardness was palpable. Draco decided that he would much prefer to wait out in rain than sit through more uncomfortable silence, but just as he was about to down his drink and make his excuses, she spoke again.

"What are you drinking Malfoy?" she asked, gesturing toward his half-full glass.

The vacant expression she had worn just a moment ago vanished and was replaced with a slightly bleary-eyed smile. Before he could reply she banged her hand twice on the bar and called out to the barman.

"Tom, a drink for my friend here."

She patted a spot on the bar in front of where Draco was sitting. Her bizarre manner had caught him rather off guard and her use of the word 'friend' had not gone unnoticed. He gaped at her in silence until the old barman was upon them and looking at him expectantly. Draco recovered quickly.

"I'll take another Firewhiskey, thank you."

"Make that two whiskeys then Tom." She held up two fingers then paused to consider her empty glass. "On second thought," she glanced briefly at Draco, "you'd better make mine a double."

She flashed the barman a wry smile. At this Draco's attention was drawn once more to the growing collection of empty glasses in front of Granger and her behavior suddenly made sense. Hermione Granger was drunk.

"Very good Miss." The toothless barman nodded at her and gave them a gummy grin before shuffling off to get their drinks.

"So, Malfoy, what brings you here on such a dreary night?" she asked, turning her attention to him again.

He was momentarily stymied. Not only was she acting as though having a drink together was a perfectly ordinary occurrence, but aside from her uncharacteristic affability, she seemed to be quite lucid, considering the staggering amount of Firewhiskey she had consumed.

"I'm meeting someone," he replied, offhandedly.

She raised her eyebrows with a look of skepticism that plainly implied, _"Here?" _ Anticipating her next question he added, "She's from out of town and this is the only place in Wizarding London that she knows."

"Ah," she said, nodding. "Anyone I know?"

He was tempted to tell her to mind her own sodding business, but keeping his temper in check, he opted to answer her instead.

"No, I don't think so. I believe she attended Beauxbatons..." He paused to finish his first drink and deciding to vent his frustration a bit he added, "…truth be told, I don't even know her."

"You mean you have a blind date?" she asked, incredulous.

He sighed, resigned. "Yes. Supposedly she is the daughter of an old friend of my mother's in France or something."

At that, she burst out laughing. Draco, who had never been comfortable being the butt of a joke, felt a part of his earlier irritation creeping back. It was short-lived however. As he watched her openly laughing at his expense, he registered dimly that she had a lovely smile. He had never seen a genuine smile light up her face before. Why would he? He had spent the better part of his childhood trying to make her cry. This thought made him slightly ill at ease and he was relieved when Tom shuffled back over to them with their drinks.

"L-Let me get this straight. You're going on a blind date that was set up by your _mother_?"

She struggled to speak through her laughter.

"So glad I could amuse you Granger."

He tried to sound offended, but as he watched her erupt into another fit of uncontrollable giggles, he couldn't help but chortle along with her in spite of himself. Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes she went on.

"Frankly, I'm surprised. I thought that miserable cow Pansy Parkinson staked her claim on you years ago. Not married to the pug-nosed princess then are you?" she asked with a derisive snort.

Now it was Draco's turn to laugh. He had forgotten about Granger's innate ability to throw insults like a Slytherin, despite her misfortune of being sorted into Gryffindor.

"Merlin, no. I haven't thought about Pansy in ages. I'm not even sure if she's still in Britain. Last I knew she and her family fled the country after the war. I heard something about her being in Austria or Australia, but that was years ago."

"Oh."

She nodded, but said no more. Her expression was sobering. Had he said something wrong? Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the war? Looking thoughtfully at the drink in her hand she turned to face him. Without a word she lifted her glass as though she were toasting him and downed her whiskey in one. Shaking her head seemingly to clear it, she banged her fist on the bar and looked up at him expectantly, a challenging smile playing about her lips.

He stared at her for a moment, rather impressed, before imitating the action.

"Sweet Mother of Merlin, Granger," he said through the burn in his throat, "I never thought I'd see the day when the Golden-Girl of Gryffindor would be drinking alone in a filthy pub, three sheets to the wind on a Friday night."

"I'm not alone" she said with a sly smile.

She had him there. Who was this woman and what has she done with prim and proper Hermione Granger? His curiosity was piqued.

"I've never known a witch who could handle that much liquor without losing consciousness, never mind carry on a coherent conversation. Where did you learn to drink like that?"

"Oh, just years of practice I guess," she replied cheekily, as Tom came round to refill their glasses.

"Well let's just hope that _The Prophet_ doesn't get wind of this. Rita Skeeter would have an absolute field day," he teased.

Granger let out a singular, humorless laugh.

"Ha. I'm sure she would. I had to leave the bloody country to escape her and that damn Quik-Quotes Quill of hers!" She sighed. "So the little beetle is still scuttling around then is she?"

"Oh yes. It seems she never tires of following me around and making my life sound a lot more interesting than it actually is."

"She has a talent for stirring up trouble wherever she goes. Though I must say, it was always entertaining to open the Sunday _Prophet_ and read about some wizard or other I was secretly rumored to have married that week."

They laughed. He couldn't believe that he was having a civil, no, pleasant conversation with Granger and that he was actually enjoying himself. He silently marveled at the unexpected turn in his otherwise tedious day as he questioned her further.

"You're not married to the Weasel then I take it?"

"Good God, no! Ron is like my brother. We dated briefly, shortly after the war, but it didn't work out. Too awkward. No, he's married with two children now."

He smirked at the thought of his least favorite red-headed weasel who had plainly been in love with Granger throughout their childhood, even he could see that, and wondered who he had found to replace her.

"And what gargoyle actually agreed to marry that great freckled git?"

"Actually," she said slowly, "he's married to Katie Bell..." she trailed off letting the name hang thick in the air.

He had nothing to say to that. It was practically instinct for him to make fun of Weasley, but when confronted with the memory of _both_ the innocent people he had nearly killed in his attempt on Dumbledore's life, Draco felt suddenly awkward. Guilt flooded his system and settled in his stomach like a lead weight. She seemed to understand and he was silently grateful that she didn't press him for details about that dark time in his life. They drank in silence for a few moments.

After draining his third glass of whiskey, he pushed the unpleasant memories aside. He had always been rather good at compartmentalizing his feelings. He watched as Granger absently drummed her fingers on her empty glass and he pondered what she had said about leaving the country. Where had she been? Now he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he saw her name in the paper, though the remaining two-thirds of the golden trio appeared in the headlines often enough. He thought there had been some speculation about her disappearance several years ago, but he rarely read _The_ _Prophet_ in the days following the war. He and his family had gotten plenty of bad press in those days and he didn't particularly like reading about it with his morning coffee.

Allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, Draco adopted what he hoped was a friendly tone and after waiting for Tom to refill their glasses yet again, he continued with their conversation.

"So, if you've not been breeding Weasley's ginger, mutant spawn, what have you been up to? Extended holiday?" He tried to sound casual.

"Hardly," she scoffed.

"Ah, so you're a career girl?" She nodded in acknowledgement. "Of course, I should've expected nothing less from the brightest witch of the age. What is it that you do?"

"I work for a magical research and development firm in the states. I live in New York now."

"Really? If you don't mind my asking, what types of research are you involved in?"

"I work mostly in experimental charms, but I dabble in potions a bit as well."

"Interesting."

"Is it? I mean, don't misunderstand me, I love my work, but it makes for rather dull conversation. Creating new spells isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds. It's mostly a constant process of trial and error just to figure out one tiny piece of the puzzle. You know?"

"As a matter of fact I do. It just so happens that I work in research and development as well."

"Do you? She asked, surprised. "Are you with the Ministry?"

Draco chuckled darkly at the thought.

"No, I don't think the Ministry would be too keen on allowing a former Death Eater to join their ranks."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." She sputtered in embarrassment as her cheeks flushed red. "It's just that I didn't realize there were any private firms in London. I thought I had a pretty good grasp on the competition," she added somewhat lamely.

"Only mine, as far as I know."

"You run your own company?"

He nodded.

"Impressive," she said sincerely. "How long have you been in business?"

"Going on ten years."

"Really? Then why haven't I heard of you?"

He laughed at the mildly suspicious look she was giving him.

"We're still pretty small and our research and development department is still in its early stages. We've been dealing mostly in building supplies, magically reinforced steel, that sort of thing; we're only just starting to branch out into International markets." He was not inclined to divulge the whole truth of the matter of his business.

"Well that's wonderful Malfoy. Good for you." She lifted her glass to him once more.

"Thank you." He paused to take another sip of his drink and brought the conversation back around to her life. "So, what brings you back to rainy old England?"

"Oh, I'm here on business," she replied automatically.

"I hope for my sake that you're not expanding your business on this side of the pond. If memory serves, you were always a formidable opponent."

She laughed at his veiled reference to their childhood rivalry.

"No, it's nothing like that. I have some personal business to attend to that's all."

"I see."

He was extremely interested in the witch before him, though he couldn't think why he should be, and though he was curious, good breeding prevented him from prying any further into her personal matters. An awkward silence descended upon them and Draco began to feel more and more anxious with each passing second. They had so far avoided any serious discussion of their shared past and he waited with trepidation for the other shoe to drop. As she seemed in no great hurry to restart their conversation he plunged on recklessly.

"So… were you planning to address the giant pink hippogriff in the room at some point or shall I?"

"No." She replied simply.

"It's just that, the last time we saw each other…" She cut him off.

"I see no reason to ruin a perfectly good conversation by dredging up old, unpleasant memories. To what end? I've moved on with my life and it appears that you have too. Let's leave the past behind us, where it belongs," she stated with finality.

She had left him dumbfounded once more, but he was grateful to her all the same.

"In that case, may I order us another round?" She hesitated for a moment.

"Sure. I don't see why not."

They sat in companionable silence while Tom poured their drinks. With a fresh drink in hand, Draco steered the conversation back toward safer waters.

"Tell me Granger, how is my old friend Scarhead doing? I believe I read somewhere that he finally saddled himself to the Weaslette?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes, _Harry_ and _Ginny _have been married for over seven years now."

"Gods, couldn't they be more creative?" he asked with mock derision. "Did the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team pair off after Hogwarts?"

He was trying to get a rise out of her – for old time's sake. Thinking she'd jump to defend her fellow housemates, she surprised him yet again when she burst out laughing.

"You don't know the half of it! George, you know, Ron's brother, recently married Angelina Johnson."

"You're joking."

"I'm not. And that's not all. Though I can't be sure, I thought I heard something about Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet."

"Bloody hell. Do they keep up with regular team practice?" he scoffed.

"Well, they used to play every Saturday afternoon at the Burrow..." she trailed off.

"Used to? Don't tell me they've given up on their aspirations to add the 'Weasley Weasels' to the International Quidditch League?" He laughed at the thought.

"I wouldn't know," she hesitated briefly. "What with my job and everything…I…I don't make it home very often."

She smiled sadly and his laughter died at once.

He watched as Granger fumbled in her pockets for a moment and removed what looked like a pack of muggle cigarettes. She lit one for herself with the tip of her wand and offered the pack to Draco.

Draco accepted the proffered fag and did the same.

"I'm surprised at you Granger. These things will kill you, you know," he added exhaling.

"Oh no, they're perfectly safe," she contradicted, seeming to perk up a bit. "I tweaked them a bit. They look, feel and taste like a regular fag, but I replaced all the harmful chemical bits with a simple calming charm, so you get all the benefits of nicotine, without all the negative side effects."

"Is that so? That is rather ingenious," he conceded, impressed.

"It's part of a little pet project of mine. You see, I'm trying to find ways to improve the lives of muggles without their knowledge so as not to break the statute of secrecy."

He laughed as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Of course you are. And how have you been getting on?"

"Not well at all. While most people agree that it is a good idea in theory, my employer is…" she seemed to choose her words carefully, "…reluctant to support the idea."

"I imagine they would be. I suppose saving the wizarding world wasn't enough for you? You have to save all the muggles too? Is that why you came back to town, to try to get your fan club at the Ministry to back your ridiculous plan?"

"First of all, my idea is not ridiculous! Secondly, I have no idea what _fan club_," she practically spat the words, "you are referring to. And thirdly, I have no intention of asking anyone at the Ministry to do anything, thank you very much."

She was gesturing wildly with the cigarette held loosely in her hand. At the end of her mini rant she childishly blew a cloud a smoke directly in his face. He laughed at her. It felt good to get her all riled up like that again. He finally saw a flash of the girl he knew (and loathed) all those years ago. Her features were once again alight with that spark of intelligence so characteristic of the girl he remembered.

The evening wore on in a smoky haze of drink and witty banter. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had such stimulating conversation with anyone, let alone his childhood nemesis. They discussed everything from her silly S.P.E.W club (which she finally conceded was a wasted effort) to the current political climate. She seemed to get louder and more animated as the empty glasses multiplied. He had cast a non verbal muffliato charm earlier in their conversation so as not to draw any unwanted attention and he couldn't help thinking that had been a good idea. Draco was better able to hold his drink and keep his wits in check, but then, he was a much larger person than she and he suspected that she'd had a considerable head start. As he studied the witch before him he dimly registered that she was vociferously condemning some of the amendments to the current International Trade Agreement that had been the main source of his frustration at work for the past several months. He was surprised to discover that he and Granger were of the same opinion as to how the agreement might be improved.

"…it's utter rubbish. If the idiots at the Ministry would listen to reason and start passing laws that actually helped people instead of these useless, asinine..." she stopped abruptly.

"Is anything the matter?"

"No. It's nothing. Your date is here," she said impassively.

"And just how may I ask do you know that? I thought divination wasn't your thing." He smirked at her, but she chose to ignore his jab as she leaned heavily on the bar and pointed towards the door.

"Look at the witch who just walked in…" she slurred slightly, "…the little petite one, talking to Tom. She looks absolutely terrified to be in here. See the way she is clutching her purse like someone's about to snatch it from her?" She laughed to herself. "And just look at what she's wearing. Those are clearly designer robes and French made, too, by the look of them."

She was quite right of course.

"I think you must be right. I'm glad to see your powers of deductive reasoning are undiminished after all these years." _Despite being arse-over-broomstick drunk_, he thought to himself.

They exchanged a brief smile. At that moment, Tom made his way back over to where they were sitting.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is a Ms. Nicole Bouchard waiting for you sir."

So that was her name.

"Actually, Tom, it is she who has kept me waiting for the past twenty minutes," he said checking his watch for the first time since he sat down. He could scarcely believe that he'd been talking to Granger for over half an hour.

"I'm sorry sir?" Tom questioned.

"Never mind that, what do we owe you for the drinks? I'd like to pay Ms. Granger's tab as well."

As Draco made to toss a few galleons on the table, Granger stayed his hand looking nervous.

"Just charge everything to my room, Tom," she said quickly. "This one is on me Malfoy."

Before he could protest, the old barman had excused himself with a slight bow.

"Thank you," he said, hoping to convey more than just his thanks for the drinks. Though she would probably not remember their little encounter, he had quite enjoyed her company.

"See you around Malfoy. Have fun on your date," she whispered loudly nodding in the direction of the distinctly ruffled witch standing by the door.

He followed her gaze and turned toward the haughty looking witch.

"Yeah," he said without enthusiasm.

He couldn't suppress the surge of disappointment he felt when his conversation with Granger had ended so abruptly, but mentally chided himself as he refocused his attention on his actual date. He acknowledged her with a slight wave before making his way to the front of the bar. He turned to look back at Granger once more, but she was gone. He wondered for a moment if he'd simply imagined the whole thing. Though judging by the multitude of tumblers balanced precariously in Tom's arms as he cleared the area of the bar where they had been sitting, he knew he had not.

In a dozen strides he reached the front door where he politely introduced himself to Ms. Bouchard. He retrieved his umbrella from the stand, though there was no need for it now as the rain had finally stopped, and he offered her his arm as he led her out of the pub onto the rain-soaked street beyond.

**A/N: The title of this story was taken from a song by Rebecca Correia. I highly recommend you search for her on the internet. Each chapter will be titled with the name of song that inspired me while writing, though in some instances (like this chapter – 'Of all the gin joints…' by Fall Out Boy) the title of the song was inspiration in and of itself. **

_**Of the gin joints in all the world**_** – is clearly from **_**Casablanca**_**, but I'm quoting the bastardized version Andy Garcia's character says in the remake of **_**Ocean's Eleven**_**. I also stole a bit of dialogue from the films **_**Moonstruck **_**and **_**Harvey.**_

_**To be early is to be on time… **_**is something one of my college professors used to say at the start of class. Needless to say, we were never late!**

**Please review! I'd really love to hear your thoughts. Constructive criticism welcome!**

*****Special Thanks to the Beta-licious Emerald Enchantress!*****


	2. The Places You've Come to Fear the Most

**Disclaimer: I heart JKR and wouldn't dream of trying to make money off her brilliance. **

**Chapter 2 – The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most**

Hermione awoke with a pounding headache. It felt as though two mountain-trolls were taking it in turns to bash her over of the head with a spiked club. Groaning at the throbbing pain, she registered that her mouth was horribly dry and tasted awful; she thought vaguely that something must have crawled in there and died at some point during the night. Not yet ready to face the day, she rolled over onto her stomach and covered her head with a pillow. This proved to be an error in judgment. Her stomach protested violently to the sudden change in position and began to lurch in an ominous sort of way. Recognizing the symptoms at once, she thrust an arm out from under the covers and groped blindly over the top of the bedside table searching for the little bottle that usually resided there. Finding nothing, she rolled onto her back once more and suppressed another wave of nausea as she blearily took in her surroundings.

She was lying in a bed that was not her own, and thankfully, she was alone. The bed was a small, lumpy four-poster that squeaked loudly with even the slightest movement. It seemed to be situated in a dingy room that was sparsely furnished, containing only the bed, night table, a small dresser and a shabby looking armchair by the fireplace. Everything looked old and rather dusty, but oddly familiar.

Unable to bring herself to care about her environs at that moment, she focused on the one thing she was able to grasp through her confusion and aching head – the urgent need to pee. With a great effort and much grunting, she sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled across the warped floorboards on her way to the loo. It was then that she noticed she still had on the black dress she had been wearing the day before. This seemed to jog her memory a bit and as she sat relieving herself, a few jumbled images flashed across her mind…

_There had been a portkey… _

The thought made her stomach turn.

_A little chapel… _

_Pouring rain…_

_Her muggle relatives…_

_Diagon Alley…_

_The Apothecary…_

Yes! She had popped into the Apothecary before going to The Leaky Cauldron for a drink! Catching sight of her appearance in the mirror and flinching at her reflection, she figured it hadn't so much been _a_ drink as a dozen drinks, but that much should be expected, she thought grimly. After all, she was nothing if not thorough.

Relieved that she had at least figured out where she was and had pieced together a basic idea of how she'd gotten to The Leaky Cauldron in the first place, Hermione shuffled over to the little dresser where she had flung her handbag, and rummaged through it until her fist closed around the tiny bottle she had purchased the day before. Hangover potion in hand, she ambled back over to the bed, uncorked the bottle and poured the entire contents down her throat. Though she was no stranger to this particular concoction, she never ceased to be amazed by its instant and wondrous effects; it was as if a cool stream of water was gushing through her every pore, cleansing her entire body, clearing her aching head and extinguishing the embers of the whiskey-induced fires from the previous evening.

For one blissful moment she felt infinitely better, all of her aches and pains had evaporated, the trolls in her head vanished and even the horrid taste in her mouth had been replaced with a fresh, clean feeling. Unfortunately, with the clearing of her head, came awareness, earth-shattering, panic-inducing awareness. A flood of images came crashing into her consciousness in relentless waves - the effects of which were ten times worse than her previous nausea - for now she could remember why she had gone to The Leaky Cauldron in the first place...

_It was raining buckets when she arrived at the small chapel. She had forgotten to bring an umbrella, and because she was in muggle London, she was unable to perform an impervious charm to keep dry. However, that did nothing to increase her desire to enter the quaint little chapel. Resolute in her decision simply to stand outside in the rain until the whole bloody business was over; Hermione reached into her pocket and removed a crumpled piece of paper. She had read the letter only once before crushing it in her fist. Hoping that in her haste she may have mistaken the date, she reread the brief missive…_

Hermione, 27 March 2009

As I am sure you have realized by now, your parent's anniversary is approaching in a week's time. I have taken the liberty of arranging a private service to be held in their honor on Friday afternoon the third of April. I am sure you are very busy, but I fully expect you to attend. I know your parents would want you to be there. I hope you are quite well and I look forward to your prompt reply.

Warm Regards,

Aunt Imogen

_Warm indeed, she thought acidly. Cold, formal and straight forward to a fault - that was her Aunt Imogen. She had been known as Aunt Genny when Hermione was a child, but they had steadily grown apart during Hermione's years at Hogwarts. Imogen was the only member of her extended family who knew about her 'special gift' (as her parents used to say), but, unlike her parents, Aunt Imogen did not approve. As a result, they had seen little of each other since Hermione was a child and had barely spoken in the last ten years. Of course, that wasn't entirely her aunt's fault; Hermione hardly ever came home, she just didn't see the point. Hermione didn't feel like she belonged in her family's world, the muggle world, and her family couldn't belong in the magical world. It was simpler to cut ties and run. _

If only she could outrun the guilt…

_Shaking her head, she crumpled the letter once more, tossed it in the bin on the corner of the street and watched for a moment as the ink seeped through the rain-soaked paper before she turned to head up the paved walk. Though she was quite certain she had not mistaken the date, she held onto the glimmer of hope that perhaps she had come to the wrong place and that someone else's relatives would be waiting on the other side of the doors. _

_Her hopes were dashed when she noticed a little sign posted on the outer door of the church where the weekly service schedules were printed. _

Friday4 pm – In Memoriam – Mr. Richard Granger and Mrs. Jane Granger

_The service had been mercifully short and afterwards she only had to endure another hour in the company of her parent's relatives during dinner at a nearby muggle restaurant. They didn't really feel like her family any more but she accepted their embraces and words of comfort with as much grace and fortitude as she could muster. Hermione smiled, nodded, and gave half-hearted assurances that she would keep in touch and visit more often but she did so without any real conviction. The only one who did not express her condolences was Aunt Imogen. Imogen kept her distance for the most part, inquiring only about her plans for her parent's house and whether or not she intended to sell. Hermione had never really thought about selling the house before now; it just felt too much like giving up. She wasn't about to share her feelings with her aunt at the moment however, as Imogen was too busy scolding her: _

"_It's high time you started to take some responsibility Hermione," she had said. "The house has been sitting empty for over ten years now. It's wasteful not to mention disgraceful; this should have been taken care of years ago. I would have been happy to handle the matter myself, but seeing as though everything was left to you, I shan't interfere."_

_Oh, but Hermione knew that she absolutely would interfere if given the chance. Though she never said anything outright, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that Imogen secretly suspected her of playing a part in her parent's death._

If she only knew,_ she thought to herself._

_Feigning jet lag Hermione made excuses to her well-meaning relations, successfully escaping the remainder of her aunt's inquisition and disappeared through the doors of the restaurant,__feeling Imogen's hawk-like stare on her back all the while. She turned down a small, dark alley until she could no longer feel her aunt's eyes on her back. With a fervent desire to put an end to the wretched day she checked to make sure the coast was clear and seeing no one, she apparated away with a loud crack. _

_Hermione landed on the back door step of her parent's old house and with a whispered_Alohomora_, stepped inside. Everything looked exactly as it had on the day her parents had left. She walked around the familiar kitchen running her fingers over the dust-covered counter tops. As she passed the tiny window above the sink, her movements rustled the white lace curtains disturbing several cobwebs. The normally cheery yellow wallpaper was faded and peeling in places. She performed a quick _Scourgify_ to remove some of the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years and moved on to the sitting room. _

_It was here that she felt the first pangs of grief. She was immediately drawn to the mantle above the fireplace where there were a series of framed photographs of a younger, smiling Hermione. There was a particular photo that caught her eye. It had been__taken at King's Cross Station in London the day she first left to go to Hogwarts. She couldn't remember who had taken the photo but both of her parents were there with their arms wrapped around her, their smiles frozen forever. She took it down off the mantle, gently wiped the dust from the glass with her fingers and curling up on the moth-eaten sofa, she cried. _

_When she finally sat up Hermione wiped the tears from her face, tried to rub away the awful couch patterns imprinted on her cheek and brushed her hair off her face, sweeping it up into a loose ponytail. She wasn't sure whether she had been there for five minutes or five hours, but she knew, suddenly, that she could not bear to spend another moment in that house, at least not without a drink and since her parents only ever drank a glass of wine with dinner every now and then, there was nothing to be found in the cupboards. Though she wanted to maintain a level of anonymity during her time in London, she knew that muggle whiskey simply wasn't going to cut it and decided to apparate to Diagon Alley instead. _

_She found herself in her favorite little square in the center of the high street looking up at the gleaming white façade of Gringotts, but she didn't stop to look for long. She really didn't want to be recognized. Luckily, it was still pouring with rain and everyone in the street seemed in a great rush to get indoors. Hermione began to make her way down the street to The Leaky Cauldron but made a quick stop at the apothecary first. She knew how the night would likely end and she wanted to be prepared. _

_The Leaky Cauldron was crowded. There were a lot of scruffy-looking wizards at the bar downing a few pints to celebrate the end of the work week. As she passed through the little pub, she didn't make eye contact with anyone and kept the collar of her jacket pulled up around her face, which didn't arouse any suspicion thanks to the pounding rain outside. Though this wasn't the sort of crowd that would be prone to fawn all over her and ask for her autograph, Hermione was still careful to let a bit of her rain-soaked hair fall in her face as she seated herself in a dark corner at the very back of the room. _

_With the wall on her right side and a large unpleasant looking man on her left, she felt reasonably safe lowering her collar, though she kept her raincoat on. Rather than draw attention to herself, she sat drumming her fingers idly on the bar waiting for Tom the barman to notice her, though her patience was wearing thin. When Tom finally began to make his way over to her side of the room, the large man on her left chose that moment to try and chat her up. _

"_All right, darling? __Fancy a drink?" he slurred._

_Hermione tried her best to ignore him but it was rather difficult as he reeked powerfully of tobacco and stale drink. He leered at her under greasy, matted hair with a crooked yellow smile. He looked like he hadn't shaved in days and his stained robes were stretched tightly over his enormous belly. If she had to guess, she supposed he had been sitting there drinking all day long. She almost envied him for that. _

_Without waiting for her to respond he beckoned to Tom for another drink and continued, "There's somethin' about you. Do I know you? What's your name?"_

_Hermione inwardly cursed herself for not utilizing some sort of glamour charm before leaving the house. Thankfully, the man sitting beside her didn't look like the type who regularly read the newspaper, so perhaps he really didn't know her. This sounded like a lame attempt at a pick up line more than anything. However, just as she was about to tell him to sod off, Tom arrived and with a pointed look at the barman Hermione checked her temper and replied slowly and deliberately, "Jane. My name is Jane Wilkins. I am quite sure I don't know you and I am perfectly capable of buying my own drinks thank you very much." _

_The lie had rolled quickly and easily off her tongue. Tom instantly got the message, but the large man would not be so easily deterred. _

"_Oh, come on love. Let us a buy you a pint."_

"_I said no thank you," she repeated firmly._

_Mercifully, Tom interceded._

"_Go on then Angus, you 'eard the lady. Leave 'er alone or I'm cuttin' you off for the night."_

_Muttering darkly to himself, Angus made a great show of turning in his seat so that his back was to Hermione. She gave Tom a smile of thanks, ordered two Firewhiskeys and downed them one right after the other. _

_Everything became a bit fuzzy after that. There had been a lot more Firewhiskey, of that much, she was certain. Somewhere around her fifth or maybe sixth drink (she had lost count) Tom had insisted that she take a room at The Leaky Cauldron for the night and given her some pepper-up potion to try and ward off the effects of the alcohol, though in truth it only succeeded in restoring a bit of her mental clarity and effectively killed her buzz. She was still in no position to apparate. The only upside to the potion was that the steam pouring from her ears irritated Angus enough to get him to vacate the seat next to hers at the bar. _

_She was rather lost in her own thoughts and wallowing in the after effects of the potion when the sound of someone calling her name jarred her back to reality. At first she thought Angus had figured out her identity and she was contemplating whether or not to obliviate him when she looked up, not into Angus' beady little eyes, but into the silvery orbs of none other than Draco Malfoy. _

Her stomached dropped at the thought of him. Why? Why did she have to run into him of all people? She groaned. It was bad enough that she was drunk in public, but drunk in public and in front of Draco Malfoy…ugh.

The fates clearly were not with her last night. Hermione hated to lose control, not to mention losing control in front of her former nemesis. She cringed at the thought as she cradled her head in her hands, struggling to remember what they discussed and if she'd said anything, she would now regret.

While she hadn't said anything too incriminating, there were several near misses. They came dangerously close to a few topics she very much wanted to avoid. Luckily, she had had the presence of mind to turn the tables on him when he steered the conversation into dangerous waters. She was particularly thankful for her high tolerance for alcohol when it came time to pay the tab. She hadn't expected him to offer to pay. It would have been horribly embarrassing if he found out exactly how much she had consumed, though she suspected he could easily guess.

_Thank bloody Merlin for Tom_, she thought as her stomach gave another unpleasant surge. If he hadn't given her that potion who knows what she might have done. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she had made poor choices after a night of ill advised over indulgence. She made a mental note to leave Tom a huge tip when she checked out that morning.

Even though the memory embarrassed her to no end, she had to admit that she had been glad for Malfoy's company. He made for an excellent distraction and in hindsight, she couldn't have asked for a more perfect cover. The odds of anyone being brave enough (or stupid enough more like) to willingly interrupt the infamous Draco Malfoy while he was in a private conversation with a lady were highly unlikely. On top of that, if anyone had recognized her, no one in their right mind would have believed that it was actually her because she and Malfoy would never be seen together in public, at least not willingly.

Though she couldn't quite recall everything they discussed, particularly towards the end of the evening, she seemed to remember that they had quite a bit in common. His behavior was pleasantly surprising and aside from a few awkward moments, he had been almost friendly. They certainly had laughed a lot. She hadn't thought that Malfoy knew how. When he smiled, an expression she had never seen on his face before, his whole countenance changed. It was truly remarkable. Though she was loath to admit it, he had always been rather easy on the eyes, but his personality was so heinous that it rendered his good appearance useless. Now, however, he was tall and broad shouldered with strong features that, when not marred with a hateful smirk, were actually quite handsome.

Of course, she had probably looked like a drowned rat next to him; she hadn't exactly given her appearance much thought before she left the house – and she had been crying.

"Bloody brilliant," she sighed to herself.

Shaking her head to rid the thoughts from her mind, she squinted through the bright sunlight streaming in through the dirty window to glance at her watch.

"Eleven-thirty? Shit!" she yelled as she jumped out of bed and frantically scrambled across the room to her bag and began rifling through it in search of clean clothes.

"Damn-stupid-undetectable-extension-making-it-impossible-to-find-shit charm!" she grunted. "Where the fuck is my fucking top?" Locating her wand, she jammed it in the bag and spat, "_Accio_ shirt…for fuck's sake."

Clothing in hand, she hurried to the bathroom where she showered and dressed hastily. She gathered her things, shoved them all back into her bag and threw on her raincoat, though it was not necessary as the weather was positively beautiful outside. She flung her bag over shoulder and searching her pockets, she pulled out a folded letter. This one was written on thick parchment and contained much friendlier tidings than Imogen's note.

_My Dear Long-Lost Friend Hermione, 28 March 2009_

_Where have you been? __And why haven't you responded to any of my owls? __If I didn't know how busy you are, I would be seriously offended! Look, we haven't seen you in ages – not since George and Angelina's wedding and that was nearly a year ago! You've already missed half the children's birthdays - not to mention Christmas! Now I know what you're going to say so don't even try the whole 'but I called AND sent an owl' argument. We got your owls and the gifts were lovely, but we don't care about any of that. We want to see you! The children miss their Auntie Mione! So listen up. Enough is enough already. Teddy's eleventh birthday is next week and you should hear the way he's going on about it. He's so excited for his 'mini coming of age'. It's adorable. He'll be going to Hogwarts in September and he's simply dying for his letter to make it official. As you know, it is quite the milestone. The party is on Saturday afternoon, the fourth of April at the Burrow and YOU WILL NOT MISS IT! I simply won't take no for an answer. I know international portkeys are difficult to arrange but you're a clever witch and I'm sure you'll figure something out. Until next week…_

_ Love you madly,_

_ Gin_

_p.s. I may as well warn you now – Harry and Ron are either going to tie you down and take your wand when you arrive or you're going to have to arrange for an extended holiday from work so that you can be here when the baby is born. I just hope that he waits until after the annual Minister's Ball to make his appearance. I'd hate to have to miss it again this year. I'm starting to think that Harry purposely gets me pregnant every year so he'll have an excuse not to go, but then again, he was never the brains of your little operation was he? So I suppose that's not likely to be the case. _

_p.p.s. I'm sure you've picked up on the use of 'him' in reference to the baby. Don't worry, you haven't missed anything. We don't actually know the sex yet. You know Harry, he likes to be surprised. Rose is fiercely campaigning for another girl so they can keep their majority in the family, but I'm quite sure this one is going to be a boy. By the way, you're the Godmother…again. Sorry to saddle you with another one of my children, but I am running out of friends to ask! See you soon!_

Smiling to herself, she re-folded the letter and tucked it back inside her pocket as she made her way downstairs.

The pub was just starting to fill up with the lunch crowd and as she glanced around at all the people, she forcibly had to shut out the memories that flooded back to her from the previous evening, jumbled as they were. She desperately wanted to catch the next international portkey, go back home and hide in her flat but she had promised Ginny that she would be at the party and that meant she had to purchase a birthday gift for Teddy and she had to do so quickly, lest she be late. Hermione hated being late and she also hated the thought of what Ginny and Mrs. Weasley would do to her if she were.

Luckily, after re-reading Ginny's letter, she knew exactly what she would get Teddy for his special day. She knew Andromeda, Teddy's grandmother and primary guardian, didn't have much money, so Hermione decided that she would help out by purchasing some of the more expensive items that would be on Teddy's Hogwarts list. She, Harry and Ron had all gone out of their way over the years to make sure Teddy was just as spoiled as the rest of the Potter/Weasley children.

As quickly and discreetly as possible, Hermione made her way to counter to settle her tab with Tom.

"Ah! Miss Gr-"

She shot him warning look.

"Oh, er, sorry Miss. I…er…I hope you enjoyed your stay wiv us," he fumbled.

"Yes. Thank you for everything Tom. I'd like to settle my tab please."

"Of course, righ' away." Tom slid a piece of parchment over the top of the bar and glancing at it quickly, Hermione handed a sizeable bag of galleons to him.

"This ought to cover it, I think. I don't need any change," she said with a pointed glance at Tom.

"Thank you so much Miss Gra- Miss. 'ave a pleasant day," he said, trying desperately to cover up his near miss.

She gave him a weary smile, returned the pleasantry and headed to the back of The Leaky Cauldron where she would find the magical entrance to Diagon Alley. She supposed she simply could have apparated, but she always enjoyed watching the street unfold before her after tapping the bricks with her wand. As she watched the magical shopping center slowly appear, she quickly donned a pair of muggle sunglasses, secured the tie of her raincoat firmly around her waist and threw her hair up into a messy bun. It was going to be much harder to be discreet in the light of day. She considered using a _disillusionment_ charm, but thought better of it. The shimmering edges of her form would glint in the sunlight and arouse much more suspicion than her muggle clothes would any day, even in wizarding London. What she wouldn't give to have Harry's invisibility cloak right about now.

When all the bricks had finally shifted and the splendors of Diagon Alley lay before her, Hermione found it difficult to stay focused on her task. She couldn't help but stop and look at all the wonderful window displays she passed. So much had changed since she last set foot on these cobblestone streets – not counting last night when she could barely see through the dark and driving rain. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the glittering rows of shops. There were several new high-end boutiques, fancy restaurants and cafes situated alongside the more familiar places she recognized. Everything looked shiny and new, as so much needed to be rebuilt after the war. It reminded her very much of wizarding New York. Gone were the junk shops and second-hand broom stores. She supposed they had been relegated to Knockturn Alley now that it was illegal to maintain a shop dedicated to the dark arts.

She was glad to see that Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Eeylops Owl Emporium and Ollivander's Wand Shop were all back in business and doing a roaring trade. She was even pleased to see that Quality Quidditch Supplies was extremely busy, though she had no desire ever to set foot inside the shop again – she remembered all too well the number of times Harry and Ron had dragged her with them to look at racing brooms.

As she walked on, she had to physically restrain herself from entering Obscurus Books, as that would have been a dead giveaway to her identity. She stayed strong however, strode past her beloved bookshop and entered Potage's Cauldron Shop instead. She was relieved that the shop was completely empty apart from herself and the elderly shop owner who greeted her.

"May I help you with anything?" the shopkeeper asked in a reedy voice that crackled, Hermione supposed, from lack of use.

"Yes, I'd like one standard size two pewter cauldron please."

"Ah," the shop owner cried, "have you got a little one starting at Hogwarts? Though it's a bit early for back to school shopping isn't it?"

Hermione was taken aback by the fact that this gentleman seemed to think her old enough to have an eleven year old child, but then again she reasoned, wizards tended to have children earlier in life than muggles. The wizarding world was still rather old fashioned compared to muggle standards. After all, nearly all of her friends had children already.

Not wanting to be rude, she answered him truthfully.

"It's for my friend's son. It's his birthday. Would it be possible to get it gift-wrapped? The party starts in a few minutes and I'm in rather a hurry." She smiled sweetly at the man.

"Of course Madam, I'll have your cauldron wrapped up and ready to go in a jiff." The old man shuffled off into a back room and returned a few minutes later with a beautifully wrapped box in his wizened hands.

Hermione paid the man and thanked him, then cast a few spells to make the package feather light and shrank it so that it fit easily in her bag. She exited the shop and moved on down the lane to Slug & Jiggers' Apothecary where she purchased a complete first-year potion kit, a set of brass scales, several crystal phials and though it went against her better judgment, she popped into Flourish & Blotts to pick up the latest edition of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ to make the gift complete.

The last two shops were quite a bit busier than the Cauldron shop, but that actually served to distract any clerks that might have recognized her (particularly in Flourish & Blotts) and she made it out seemingly unnoticed.

Further, down the road she spied the unmistakable purple façade of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. George & Ron's shop, which used to be one floor with a flat just above where the twins would sleep (when Fred was still alive), was now a huge hulking tower that stood at least twenty stories high. She knew that the 'shop' (though the term hardly seemed appropriate anymore) was thriving, but she'd had no idea they were doing this much business. As she looked around the newer section of Diagon Alley, she saw many more high rises and she thought it looked more like muggle London or Manhattan than the quaint little shopping centre she remembered.

She didn't stop to look at the dazzling display in front of the Weasley's store and hurried past, hoping not to run into anyone she knew. Though she assumed the Weasley's would all be safely ensconced in the Burrow by now, she didn't want to run the risk of a boisterous reunion in the middle of such a public place. Besides that, she wasn't quite ready to face any of her adopted family just yet.

When she finally made it out of the bustling business centre and back out into the quiet row of smaller shops, she noticed a tiny café tucked away in a far corner of the square called The Daily Brew. Hermione saw that much to her surprise, it was not particularly busy at the moment and as she was looking for a reason to procrastinate before apparating to the Burrow, she stepped inside. She was instantly delighted. It was a charming little shop that served coffee, tea and light pastries. There were several tables with umbrellas outside and a few booths inside with a couple of stools placed around the counter. She ordered a cup of tea and a pistachio biscuit from the smiling young witch at the counter and though she could have happily sat there all day long, she took her tea to go and drank it quickly as she made her way to the nearest apparition point. She did however make a mental note to visit the café again as soon as may be.

When she reached the apparition point, Hermione turned on the spot and with a loud crack, landed on a dusty lane that she knew only too well. Off to the left, the road would take her straight into the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, while on the right it led to the top of Stoatshead Hill. However, her destination lay immediately before her, invisible to any of the muggles who may pass by on their way to and from the village, but impossible to miss for her.

She stared up at the familiar lop-sided building, steeling herself for the onslaught of hugs, kisses and shrieks that she knew she would receive the moment she walked through the door. That didn't bother her in the slightest, for she truly loved them all, but she dreaded their questions. Why had she been away for so long? Why didn't she move back to England? Where was she staying and for how long? Was she seeing anybody? Why didn't she ever invite them to visit? She was grateful that this reunion was to take place during what was sure to be a chaotic afternoon with almost the entire Weasley clan in attendance, thereby ensuring that she would not have to be the center of attention. That would at least give her a chance to collect herself and come up with convincing answers to their probing questions.

As she drew nearer to the house, she caught the sounds of familiar voices floating out through the open window.

"Get back here you two! What have I told you about sampling the cake? Now I'll have to do the icing all over again!" She heard Mrs. Weasley shout.

She thought that perhaps Teddy and James (who idolized his older cousin and was more than willing to join him in mischief) were the culprits. That was until she peeked through the window and saw Harry and Ron running into the sitting room at top speed in an attempt to dodge a well-aimed rolling pin Mrs. Weasley had obviously chucked at their heads. She heard Bill's raucous laughter as they ran past an irritated George, having just knocked the drink from his hands.

"Oi!" George yelled as Harry and Ron fell onto the sofa, doubled over with laughter, licking the frosting surreptitiously from their fingers.

Then she heard another, less familiar voice shout, "Teddy, do be careful! You know how those things make me nervous and for pity's sake, not in the house!" It only took her a moment to ascertain that the voice belonged to a frantic Andromeda as the cause of her worries zoomed through the sitting room right after Harry and Ron on a very real, full-sized broomstick.

"Don't worry, 'Dromeda, we'll teach him to fly it properly," Ginny said, giving the older witch a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "but not in the house!" she added to her thoroughly over excited nephew as he reluctantly dismounted from his broom and ran with it out the back door.

"Can I have a go on Teddy's broom, Daddy? Can I?" James begged, practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.

"Absolutely not little man," Harry said as he scooped up his now four-year-old son, receiving an approving smile from Ginny, "but I'll let you ride on the back of my broom with me when we get home alright?" Harry whispered loudly, earning a playful smack from his wife.

His son nodded in enthusiasm and as soon as Harry placed him back on his feet, James ran off after Teddy once more. Hermione watched as Harry absently placed a hand on his wife's distended belly, rubbing in gentle circles as Ginny continued chatting with Andromeda. She smiled at the sight of her friends and she wondered for a moment about what her life might have been like if things had been different and she had stayed with them. Not wanting to break down on the spot, she checked her emotions and resumed her observations.

At the far end of the sitting room, she could just make out Angelina rocking a sleeping Fred in her arms, smiling fondly at George as he poured himself a fresh drink while chatting amicably with Percy and his wife Audrey. Meanwhile their two little girls Molly and Lucy were seated crossed legged on the floor alongside their cousins Dominique, Albus and Rose, all of whom were riveted by a series of muggle magic tricks performed by their Grandpa Weasley.

At the conclusion of the 'magic' show, Rose Weasley squealed with glee and clapped her hands before excitedly getting to her feet to go look for her mother in order to try out the new trick she had learned; how to pull a galleon out of someone's ear. She ran through the sitting room, pausing only to whisper, "Please be a girl!" to her aunt Ginny's belly on her way to the kitchen. Hermione followed her progress through the house and moved to the other side of the porch to peer into the kitchen window.

Staring into Mrs. Weasley's domain, she found a massive meal in preparation. The smells alone were enough to drive anyone in off the street. Hermione remained hidden however, wondering whether or not the delicious scents wafting outside would be as unplottable as the house itself. Mrs. Weasley worked diligently over a boiling cauldron with the help of Fleur, who was secretly adding spices to the stew whenever Molly's back was turned. Fleur's oldest daughter Victoire was diligently gathering cutlery in order to set the table. At one end of the table sat Katie, who patted an impatient Rose on the head before returning to the task of alternately spoon-feeding her son Hugo and her niece Lily from their high chairs, both of whom were just over a year old.

Hermione couldn't believe how much the children had grown. Ginny sent her pictures all the time, but it wasn't the same as seeing them up close, watching them play and hearing the adorable things they said. She often marveled at the fact that all of her dearest friends, those that used to rely on her to take care of them, were now parents in their own right. It made her feel oddly lonely and detached, for she couldn't even imagine having full responsibility for another person. As it was, she barely took care of herself. She worked all hours of the day and night, skipped meals, never got enough sleep, not to mention her occasional over-indulgence with Firewhiskey.

She turned from the window to sit on the front steps, feeling horribly isolated all of a sudden, more so than if she were back in New York on the other side of the ocean. She didn't have long to stew however because at that moment her cover was blown when the very familiar sound of Ron's voice shouted, "Oi, you lot! She's here!" This was instantly followed by a chorus of, "Auntie 'Mione! Auntie 'Mione is here!" She watched over her shoulder as a horde of her nieces, nephews and closest friends descended upon her.

Wishing she had more time to compose herself, she plastered on the most sincere smile she could muster and prepared to act the part of the happy Hermione they all knew and loved. For although it pained her to have to pretend in front of those who were dearest to her, even her new more cynical self hated to disappoint her friends – her family.

"What are you doing sitting out here all by yourself?" Ron asked as though she were being completely daft, "We've been waiting for you!"

"I was just putting the finishing touches to somebody's birthday present!" she lied with ease, looking past Ron to Teddy as she handed him her gift, hoping that her tone conveyed a level of excitement equal to those currently swarming around her.

Teddy rushed back into the house eager to open his gift, hotly pursued by the rest of the children. Hermione was embraced by Harry, Ron, Ginny and all of the other Weasley's and their spouses in turn. Before she had even crossed the threshold she heard Teddy's delighted exclamation of, "Cool! Hogwarts stuff! Thanks Aunt Hermione!"

"You're welcome!" she laughingly yelled over the din and with that, several arms wrapped around her, effectively extinguishing any thoughts of turning back and she was ushered into the house.

**A/N: This chapter title comes from the song 'The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most' off Dashboard Confessional's album of the same title. It sums up Hermione's character throughout the whole story. **

**In my story the 'mini coming of age' is like a muggle Bar Mitzvah – so it's a big deal and definitely an important reason for Hermione to come home. **

**Thanks to The Emerald Enchantress and Aidenk77 for beta-ing this chapter!**

**Please review!**


	3. All These Things That I've Done

**Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue and compared to JKR (who owns all things canon) I write like poo. **

**Warning: If you don't like cursing and adult language you should turn back now. **

**Chapter 3 – All These Things That I've Done **

Draco was lying in bed impatiently waiting for a sign that the witch lying beside him was actually asleep. For as soon as he was certain that she would not wake up, he could finally extricate himself from her sleepy embrace and make his escape. Even to his own ears, the word escape sounded a little extreme, but he knew he wouldn't get a moment's shut eye until he was far away and safely secluded in his own bed, by himself.

Draco made it a point never to sleep with a woman. He had sex with plenty of women, but sleeping with a woman was an entirely different matter, one that smacked of commitment and that was something he didn't want to know anything about. He was going to be forced into lifelong commitment soon enough and until that day he was going to make the most of his fleeting bachelorhood.

It was for this reason that he never brought a witch back to his flat. He desperately tried to avoid the inevitable awkward morning after rituals that usually sprung from casual encounters such as his. It was so much easier to make an excuse in a note than to actually have to face the person you just fucked and never intended to see again. Some might call it cowardice, but Draco called it good common sense. Who wants to start their day lying to some poor besotted witch anyway?

However, the witch lying beside him at present was neither poor nor besotted it would seem. He had spent last evening and many evenings prior over the past several weeks, in the company of Ms. Nicole Bouchard. Hers was the bed from which he so anxiously wished to escape. Not that he meant to treat her like some common slag. No, Nicole was too valuable for that. Not to mention that although he found her to be rather dull, he liked her well enough. She was beautiful, personable, and well-mannered, though perhaps a little desperate to please him, which grew tiresome after a while.

She was currently staying at the French Embassy in London for an extended visit with her father who had been in England for many months trying to negotiate the terms of the International Wizarding Trade Agreement (or ITA for short). Draco knew better however. He would bet his entire inheritance that both his and Nicole's mother had arranged for this visit as well as their little meeting a few weeks ago in the hopes that the two would fall in love, or at the very least come to some sort of arrangement that would result in marriage and grandchildren.

Though he hated to even entertain the thought, he had to acknowledge that Nicole would indeed make the perfect pureblood wife. She was from an excellent family who had gobs of money and powerful connections. The only trouble was that Draco felt nothing more than a slight fondness for her. He felt about her the way he might feel about a well made broomstick. He could easily recognize its value, but it certainly wasn't enough of an inducement to propose marriage.

Fortunately, it was clear that although she was more than willing to become the next Mrs. Malfoy, Nicole had no real feelings for him either, which meant that he was able to go about the business of shagging her on a regular basis guilt-free. However he did put an end to all of his other 'dalliances,' as his mother called them, at least while Nicole was still in town. He didn't want her reading about any of that nonsense in the paper as it might jeopardize his business with her father. While he showed her a modicum of respect that few other witches in his life had ever earned, he still had an aversion to waking up in the same bed with her and so he lay awake waiting.

Not that it mattered much where he slept anyway, for it had been several weeks since he'd actually gotten a decent night's rest. The last time Draco went through a bought of insomnia this severe was during his sixth year when he was working on his ill-fated mission for the Dark Lord. Then, as now, the lack of sleep was starting to wear on his nerves. He had spent the past several nights in particular pacing his room, trying to pinpoint what might have caused the arms of Morpheus to evade him so effectively.

His mother naturally attributed his lack of sleep to the fact that he was feeling guilty about the possibility of losing his inheritance and thoughtfully reminded him that the quickest way to remedy the situation was to hurry up and get married. It was on these occasions that he was especially grateful that he no longer lived at the Manor and had his own flat in London. He didn't think he could survive the constant badgering if he didn't have someplace other than work or the pub to hide from his overbearing mother.

He shuddered and shook his head to rid the image of his mother from his mind. She was the last person he wanted to think about when he was laying naked in the bed of woman he had just shagged six ways from Tuesday. That was just creepy. He noticed however that his movements did not disturb the sleeping witch beside him and he was delighted that he could finally make his exit.

Gathering his clothes which were strewn all about the room, he dressed as silently as possible and when he was fully clothed, he made his way over to the little writing table positioned against the far wall of the opulently furnished room and penned a brief note conveying his sincerest apologies…early morning meeting…couldn't be helped…will owl soon…blah, blah, blah. He left the note on the spare pillow beside her, for he refused to even think of it as _his_ pillow and soundlessly crept out of the room.

This was usually the point at which he would breathe a sigh of relief and apparate away, however in this instance he still had to get past her father undetected. It had to be past three o'clock in the morning so Draco was highly doubtful that he would meet anyone in the halls, but he didn't want to take any chances. Though her father could probably guess at the nature of his daughter's _relationship_ (he cringed at the word), they had to keep up the appearance of decorum at the very least. Mr. Bouchard was a high ranking Ministry Official and news that his daughter was engaged in an illicit affair would be fodder for the front page for weeks. The fact that Draco had appeared with Nicole in public for innocent dinners so often in the last few weeks was enough to warrant several inches of column space in the gossip rags.

With that in mind, and despite his exhaustion, Draco dredged up all his Slytherin cunning as he stealthily made his way to the main staircase that led to the first floor of the Embassy where the floo room was located. Slowly and carefully he descended the stairs. Sneaking through the large, echoing building reminded him forcibly of his Hogwarts days when he would have to sneak back into the Slytherin common room after a midnight rendezvous in a deserted classroom or hidden passageway in the castle. The thought made him nostalgic for happier, simpler times, however short lived they may have been.

When he finally arrived in the floo room, he grabbed a pinch of the silvery powder from one of the canisters set into the walls, stepped into the nearest fireplace and whispered the address of his flat as clearly as he could. When he threw the powder into the grate he was instantly whisked away and a few moments later, landed with a dull thud in his own fireplace. Stepping out onto the plush carpeting of his sitting room floor, he whipped out his wand and removed any residual dust and debris from his person before proceeding further into the room. When he was satisfied that he would not leave tracks on the light colored carpet, he made his way to the bedroom and fell fully clothed onto his enormous bed.

Feeling the weight of his fatigue hit him like a ton of bricks, he lay motionless waiting for sleep to take him, but it did not come. Just as he had for the last three weeks, he tossed and turned atop his mattress with his eyes closed, willing his mind to turn off and bemoaning the fact that though he was able to effectively clear his mind, shield his thoughts from unwanted invasion and even peer into the minds of others, the simple act of sleep eluded him. After several hours of frustrating restlessness Draco decided to get up and start the day.

He took a long, hot shower and enjoyed the soothing feeling of the water pounding down on his exhausted, tensed muscles. When his fingers began to prune, he reluctantly turned off the tap, wrapped a towel around his waist and readied himself for the day. He dressed with particular care that morning as he did in fact have a very important meeting that afternoon. Nicole's father had arranged for him and his business partner to attend a meeting at the Ministry to discuss proposed amendments to the ITA. Committee members from the Wizengamot along with other private business owners would be in attendance and though Draco knew how the ministry felt about him, Mr. Bouchard was an important man and the British Ministry did not want to offend such a prominent foreign dignitary and for that, Draco was extremely grateful.

When he was dressed and ready Draco found that he still had a few hours before work, but he was unable to spend another minute in his sleepless abode so he apparated to the heart of Diagon Alley in search of a distraction. He wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets. Most of the shops were not open yet and there were hardly any other people about. It was a beautiful day and he enjoyed the quiet, knowing that these were the only moments of solitude he was likely have today, for not only did he have the meeting at the Ministry to look forward to, but also dinner at the Manor with his mother and gods only knew who else. Almost all of her acquaintances irritated the piss out him and there was bound to be at least one horrible excuse for a single witch in attendance that he would invariably get stuck with for the entire evening.

Wishing that he didn't have to consciously check his temper every time he thought about his beloved mother, he continued his walk past the garish shop windows and gaudy displays. He was particularly disgusted by the one gracing the front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Apparently they were offering a new trick sweet that counters the effects of their best-selling 'U-No-Poo.' _Delightful_, he thought wearily.

He didn't stare long at the Weasley's nauseating display, hurrying past the huge purple tower and a collection of other high-rise buildings that he felt marred the skyline of the once charming Diagon Alley. He moved instead towards a little café, which he knew would be open despite the early hour called, The Daily Brew_. _He stopped there nearly every day on his way to workto grab his usual cup of coffee and a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. This was by far his favorite spot in all of wizarding London – including Quality Quidditch Supplies. He wasn't sure if the owners of the café had cast a modified silencing charm on the place or used some other unknown enchantment, but it was somehow quieter there. The moment he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the cozy little shop, the noise from the street was reduced to a dull roar that seemed very far away. On weekends he liked to sit there with his coffee and the paper and watch the people bustling in and out of the shops. Today, however, he took his coffee to go and decided to kill some time by walking rather than apparating to his building at the other end of the high street.

The building that housed MZ Enterprises was not one of the high rise towers he so despised, but rather it was located in the less fashionable part of 'Olde Diagon Alley'. It was situated towards the end of the high street nearer to The Leaky Cauldron. It was about three stories tall, not including the basement laboratory and was well maintained, though could not be called lavish by any standards. Among his more prominent investors Draco made the excuse that this location offered more space and allowed for easier access to the warehouse which was located around the corner in Knockturn Alley, but the truth of the matter was that at the time of purchase, this building was all Draco could afford.

When he stepped off the elevator onto the third floor where the MZ Enterprises executive offices were located, he was unsurprised to see that he was the first to arrive as this was often the case. He strode down the still dark hallway, not bothering to light any of the lamps on the way to his office. He knew that the sunlight would peak over the top of Gringotts Bank at any moment, flooding the office with natural light, which Draco preferred.

Arriving in his office, he sat down at his desk, unfurled the newspaper and nearly spilled his coffee when he stared down at the picture on the cover. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. There, in black and white was the smiling face of none other than Hermione Granger, accompanied by Saint Potter, the Weasel King and a very pregnant Weaslette. It looked as though they were about to enter Chez Sorcière, one of the swankiest restaurants in the wizarding world. The bold headline above the picture read:

_**Hermione Granger, member of the Golden Trio and hero of the Second Wizarding War, Returns!**_

Against his better judgment, Draco proceeded to read the accompanying article.

_Hermione Jean Granger, 29 was spotted outside of the upscale restaurant Chez Sorcière yesterday alongside famous friends, Harry-the-saviour-of-the-wizarding-world Potter, his wife and former captain of the Holyhead Harpies, Ginevra Potter (nee Weasley) who are expecting their fourth child, along with Ronald Weasley, war hero and current co-owner of the wildly successful conglomerate 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.' The foursome was seen laughing and joking throughout a lavish meal and it is said they stayed for hours afterwards enjoying several rounds of drinks. _

_It seems the group had every reason to celebrate. For nearly ten years Ms. Granger has been conspicuously absent from society. The wizarding world was rife with speculation at Ms. Granger's mysterious disappearance. Rumors abounded that she left to tend to a broken heart after a devastating break-up with Ronald Weasley. Though the pair has repeatedly denied any romantic involvement, it was widely believed that they were secretly planning a wedding shortly before her departure. Several eye witnesses at Chez Sorcière last evening confirmed that the pair looked quite cozy as they shared a private booth with the Potters. One witness who wished to remain anonymous reported, "They couldn't stop smiling at each other and I'm pretty sure I saw them holding hands under the table." Perhaps a reconciliation is in their future? This reporter certainly hopes so. _

_Though not much is known about Ms. Granger's current life as her friends have been fiercely protective of her privacy, we can confirm that she has continued to make generous donations to a variety of local charities over the years (most notably, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the War Orphan Scholarship Foundation and the Society for the Fair and Equitable Treatment of All Magical Creatures) and while she has been very vocal with her support of these groups in the past, Ms. Granger has so far declined all invitations to sit on the board of the directors or to make appearances at fund-raising events. This reporter has it on good authority that Ms. Granger not only rejected honorary positions within these prominent charitable organizations, but she also turned down several high profile (not to mention high salary) job offers from both Gringotts Wizarding Bank and the Ministry of Magic. Her sudden return brings with it high hopes that she will resume her role as one of the leaders of wizarding society. _

_In any event, wizarding Britain is delighted to welcome back its most famous muggleborn daughter and we all hope that this time she is here to stay. (For more information see photo spread on page six.)_

Draco tried unsuccessfully to refrain from turning to page six, but as usual his curiosity got the better of him. The photos on this page were all focused on Granger. There was one shot of her walking into Chez Sorcière and another of her back as she stood in Diagon Alley with Potter and Weasley in the background presumably taken as they were leaving the restaurant after dinner. A third picture showed Granger as he remembered her from school. It must have been taken shortly after the war because it showed a younger, though extremely care worn Granger gazing out over the Hogwarts grounds wearing a blank expression. The last photo on the page was identical to the one on the cover, but they cropped the others out so that it became a close-up of Granger's face. He was most interested in this picture. Though the happy foursome had all been waving and smiling for the camera, upon closer inspection, Draco noticed that Granger's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. This puzzled him more than he'd like to admit.

He had thought of his encounter with Granger several times over last few weeks. If he was honest with himself, though he was loath to do it, he thought that he could pinpoint the start of his insomnia to that night they met in The Leaky Cauldron. At first he told himself that it was just a coincidence, but after three weeks of lying awake all night with too much time on his hands, unwelcome reflections crept into his subconscious. He thought that perhaps his mother's guilt theory might not be far off the mark, except that he wasn't feeling guilty about any marriage contract nonsense. He reasoned that he must have some residual guilt about his dealings with Granger all those years ago. She had saved his life, even though he had gone out of his way to be horrible to her on a daily basis during their school days. That had to be it. There could be no other explanation. Seeing her again must have stirred up some old unpleasant memories. That was all. It was nothing to worry about and would surely work itself out on its own. With that, he resolutely turned to another section of the paper hoping to it would distract him until it was time for work.

At about half past eight Draco was roused from his musings when his business partner and best mate Blaise Zabini bounded into the office with his usual cup of coffee, stack of papers and half-eaten breakfast pastry shoved in his mouth. He wouldn't bother asking Blaise for an opinion on his recent insomnia because Draco could predict exactly what he would say.

"_Mate, you need to get laid. You're too stressed over the Ministry project. That's why you're not sleeping. Go out and find yourself some nice pussy. That'll set you right_."

Getting laid was Blaise's answer for everything and he certainly didn't hesitate to follow his own advice, which would explain why he was late for work most mornings. Today was no exception.

"Morning Fucker," said Blaise cheerfully, by way of a greeting.

"Late again today, I see," Draco said, flatly. "Who was she?"

"Fuck off Malfoy," he said through a mouthful of blueberry scone.

Draco smiled to himself and continued to peruse the newspaper. He would never tolerate that sort of behavior from anyone else but Blaise. The two had been business partners for almost ten years and Draco had tremendous respect for the wizard. Though Blaise was a little rough around the edges, to put it mildly, he was a hard worker, had a brilliant mind for business and had been a very good friend to Draco over the years.

They had built their company, MZ Enterprises, from nothing. After the war and the millions of galleons paid in reparations, the Malfoy family coffers were vastly diminished and all of Lucius' former investments dissolved. Knowing that no one would want to hire the son of the most prominent living Death Eater, not to mention being a former Death Eater himself, Draco had decided to start his own business selling magically reinforced building materials, thinking that there would be a huge market for that sort of thing when the rebuilding process started. The problem was that for the first time in living memory Draco needed money for the initial investment. Although nearly everyone he talked to agreed that he had a brilliant idea, no one in the general wizarding population was willing to trust a former Death Eater with their money.

When he approached his father's former business associates for assistance, he found that the remnants of the old pureblood families could be broken down into two distinct categories: the first group was comprised of those that, like the Malfoys, found themselves in too much financial turmoil to be able to offer him any help. The second was populated with those who escaped Ministry censure and were now trying to use their financial advantage to climb the social ladder. This second group was made up of what Lucius would have referred to as 'lesser wizards' and though they were likely purebloods, it meant that they had no significant connections among the wizarding elite and he wouldn't have given them the time of day. Now, these 'lesser wizards' who successfully flew under the Dark Lord's notice throughout the war and managed to keep their meager fortunes intact, were typically smug, spiteful and would gladly pass up a potential million galleon opportunity simply for the pleasure of seeing the Malfoy name go up in flames.

One evening after a particularly exhaustive, humiliating and ultimately unsuccessful search for investors, Draco was drowning his sorrows at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade when he ran into Blaise. The two had never been particularly close at Hogwarts, but were not on unfriendly terms, so when Blaise invited Draco to join him for a drink, he gladly accepted. Several rounds of Firewhiskey later, it transpired that Blaise had just come from an interview for a teaching position at Hogwarts, but was turned down by Headmistress McGonagall saying that though he scored exceedingly well on his NEWTs, she felt he needed some more time to 'quell his youthful exuberance' before she could offer him a post at the school. Draco privately agreed with his former professor. Blaise may be intelligent, but Draco could not imagine him teaching. For one thing, Blaise had the foulest mouth of anyone he'd ever known and secondly, Draco couldn't be sure that a 'Professor' Zabini wouldn't use his position to his advantage and try to bed all the seventh year girls in the school.

Blaise didn't necessarily _need_ to work in any case. Since the Zabini's had remained neutral throughout the war they were not forced to surrender any portion of the contents of their vaults. Money was not his problem. More than anything he was bored. Most of his friends and fellow Slytherins had gone into hiding or fled the country after the war. The Ministry along with every other wizarding institution was in a state of complete disarray and people were still mistrustful of unknown witches and wizards and therefore unwilling to hire anyone new.

Even in pureblood circles Blaise did not have many connections. The old money pureblood families were reluctant to accept the nouveau riche, even under the best circumstances. The Zabini's however, never stood a chance. Blaise's mother had acquired her fortune under what many have deemed suspicious circumstances. She received a considerable amount of notoriety for having been married at least seven times to enormously wealthy and typically elderly men, all of whom had died mysteriously, leaving her to be a very wealthy widow several times over. If that weren't bad enough, while Blaise's father had been a pureblood, several of his subsequent stepfathers had been half-bloods and muggleborns. One may even have been a muggle, but Draco couldn't be sure and wouldn't ask. As a result of his untraditional upbringing, Blaise was not as well versed in the etiquette and customs of the wizarding upper crust. However, Blaise's unique background made him oddly qualified for his chosen career.

After chatting and commiserating for several hours, and downing many glasses of Firewhiskey, Draco had pitched his idea for his business right there in the pub. Blaise leapt at the opportunity and they'd been partners ever since. Theirs was an unusual partnership. Though Draco was by far the more refined of the two, it was Blaise who most often acted as the front man for the company. Draco encouraged him to take the lead in meetings, while he worked mainly behind the scenes as the 'idea man.' It suited them both just fine and they found that together they made a formidable team.

Draco made sure that their product was the absolute best around thereby forcing even the most prejudiced of contractors to buy from them, though it was a tough sell in the beginning, which is why he needed Blaise so much. Many of the old purebloods still preferred to do business with 'their own kind' and though they weren't about to invite Blaise to a Sunday afternoon tea, they would still rather deal with him than a muggleborn. Conversely, the rest of wizarding society knew that the Zabini family had been neutral and therefore had no qualms about doing business with him, though many were still hesitant to deal directly with Draco himself.

As a result, ten years later they were running a successful business which allowed Draco to maintain at least the appearance of the lifestyle to which he was born. They finally owned their building outright and no longer had to deal with those dreaded goblins breathing down their necks. Their staff had grown considerably, especially with the recent addition of the research and development department, which had been a long time dream for Draco.

The only problem was that their main product was no longer in demand. The boom of the reconstruction era was coming to an end and they were rapidly running out of clients. That's why Draco needed the ITA to be approved so quickly. He also needed for it to include an amendment that would allow smaller businesses with no direct connection to the Ministry (read: companies run by former Death Eaters and Voldermort sympathizers) to export outside of the UK.

As it stands now, Wizarding Britain is, and has been since the fall of the Dark Lord, a closed market. Once the Ministry fell and the Dark Lord's dominion became international news, all foreign countries cut off trade with Britain until such time that they could prove every department within the Ministry had gone through rigorous investigations and that the findings of those investigations met with international standards. It was now common practice to have foreign Ambassadors working with every department, not just the Department for International Magical Cooperation. This practice, which many deemed necessary for unbiased investigations, slowed the whole process down considerably.

In many ways, this meeting that Draco and Blaise were to attend later that afternoon was their last attempt to convince the Ministry that they were trustworthy and that they weren't going to try to export dark objects all over the world or use their business as a front to fund some of the whack job, Death Eater copycat fringe groups that have popped up over the years. Blaise believed that with the amount of work they have put into preparing their argument and their excessive cooperation with Ministry investigations, that they couldn't possibly be denied. However, as was often the case, Draco took a much more cynical view.

Blaise had not been the victim of prejudice nearly as often as Draco, which is ironic in hindsight, since it was Draco who had been the most bigoted blood purist at Hogwarts in his day. He learned the hard way long ago that Karma was indeed a bitch and since the end of the war his only goals have been to grow his business, restore his family's tarnished reputation and hope to be left bloody well alone. He knew that the last hope was in vain as the media would never tire of trying to pry into the life of the elusive Malfoy heir, but then again, two out of three wasn't bad.

Closing his newspaper and staring once again at the photo on the front page, his thoughts returned to Granger, though his contemplation was quickly interrupted.

"Is that the latest draft of the ITA?" Blaise asked thickly having just taken another bite of scone.

"No, it's _The Daily Prophet_," he replied, taking a sip of coffee, distracted. "They certainly didn't waste any time getting her back on the front page did they? Though I must say I'm surprised she managed to avoid them this long. It's been almost three weeks…" he said, talking mostly to himself.

"Three weeks since what?"

He looked up to see Blaise's confused expression as he polished off the remainder of his scone.

"Since Granger came back to London."

Having finally swallowed all of his breakfast, Blaise turned his full attention to Draco.

"Who the fuck is Granger and what the fuck are you on about? Is this somehow related to the changes to the International Trade Agreement that we're supposed to be pitching to the Ministry this afternoon? Because if it isn't then I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Hermione Granger. Remember, she was our year at Hogwarts? Member of the Golden Trio? Famous war hero? Ring any bells?"

"Yeah, sure I remember her. Buck-toothed, bushy-haired know-it-all, wasn't she?"

"Not anymore. Take a look." Draco handed him the paper.

"Well hello mummy. Oh yeah, she's definitely fit," he said, nodding lasciviously in approval. "I'd fuck her," he said, tossing the paper back to Draco.

"Blaise, you'll fuck anything with legs."

"And tits, Draco, legs and tits," he corrected as he made his way over to Draco's desk with a large stack of papers. "Alright, so if we're done talking about nonsense in _The Daily _fucking_ Prophet_, there are a few things we need to go over before this afternoon. I found a few sections that should be reworded for clarity on page thirteen-" Draco wasn't paying attention and continued to stare at the _Prophet_ as he interrupted his partner.

"You don't think it's interesting that she's been gone for all these years and just comes back out of the blue?"

Blaise looked at Draco like he had just sprouted an extra head.

"No. I couldn't give a fuck mate and neither should you. We're about to make major head way on the ITA. Now will you please get your head out of your arse and back in the game for fuck's sake."

"Yeah, no… you're right," he said, folding the paper in defeat. "You were saying...page thirteen…?"

"Yeah, see this section here could be misinterpreted if we don't- Wait a minute. You're not fucking her are you?"

"Who? _Granger_? No! Merlin, no!"

"Then why the bloody hell are you wasting all this time talking about her?" he said with an air of exasperation and mild concern.

"It's nothing. I just ran into her a couple of weeks ago… the night that I first went out with Nicole and-"

"Nicole!" he pounced on the subject with gusto. "Now that's the fucking witch you should be talking about! Without the help from her and daddy dearest we never would've gotten into this meeting in the first place! So for the love of Merlin, focus Draco! We can't afford to fuck this up. This is what we've been working on for the past four fucking months. Okay? Are you with me? No more talking about inconsequential witches you're not fucking until after the meeting. Agreed?"

"Yes. Fine. You're right. I'm focused. You were saying…?"

"Good man. Okay, page thirteen, paragraph three…"

Later that evening, Draco and Blaise were sitting at the bar in their favorite pub in Diagon Alley. They were each about six drinks deep, trying unsuccessfully to drown their sorrows after the disaster that was their afternoon meeting. Needless to say, the Wizengamot committee members had been less than receptive to their requests and so there they sat, commiserating, much like the first time they sat together in a pub ten years ago.

"Four fucking months down the toilet. They didn't even give us a chance," Blaise said in a state of drunken despair. He was taking it much harder than Draco, who had expected the Ministry to be difficult.

"Don't kid yourself Blaise. They were never going to take us seriously. Hell, they only invited us to the meeting because Nicole's father pressured his British counterpart," Draco stated bitterly.

"I just thought that if they listened to our proposal that we might stand a chance. We have a fucking good product that has the potential to make everyone buckets of galleons. I mean…what the fuck!" he cried in exasperation.

"I know mate," he consoled. "I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but right now I miss the good old days when my father used to just show up at the Ministry with a sack full of galleons, make his demands and call it a day," Draco said as he shook his head sadly and gulped down another Firewhiskey. "It was all about who you knew in the old days. That's when a motivated individual could really get things done. Now everything has to be decided by a fucking _committee_," he practically spat, "…fucking waste of time," he grumbled.

"I know! And what's that arsehole MacMillan doing on the committee? I fucking hate that guy! How'd a little fucking toad like him get so far up in the Wizengamot?" Blaise cried venomously.

"He's a total fucking ponce," Draco agreed, "but he's well connected," he added grudgingly.

"Yeah, well fuck that! I still plan on punching him in the face the next time I see him," Blaise threatened darkly.

"I hear you mate," he agreed, knowing full well that unless MacMillan was unlucky enough to happen upon Blaise in the next few minutes or so, his threat was likely an empty one. Wanting to change the subject in any case Draco asked, "So do you want to come with me to dinner at the Manor tonight? I'm sure my mum would love to see you," Draco smirked. Both men knew this was a lie, but it caused Blaise to perk up a bit and play along.

"Well, it has been a while since I've seen your mother and I know how much she enjoys my particular brand of charm and humor," Blaise laughed darkly.

The truth was, Narcissa couldn't stand Blaise for many of the same reasons that most traditional purebloods thought ill of him, not only was he was loud, crass, rude and openly scoffed at traditional pureblood values, but Narcissa disliked him personally because she felt that he had been a bad influence on Draco. For those precise reasons, Draco brought Blaise round for dinners, parties and formal teas as often as possible. It was the only entertainment he was likely to get at one of his mother's gatherings. Plus, as an added bonus, Blaise would usually wind up going home with the latest witch Narcissa had chosen for Draco.

"Come on. You know that the food will be good and there's bound to be at least one witch in attendance who is desperate for a shag," Draco goaded.

"You do make an excellent point," Blaise conceded. "Alright, then. I'm in."

Thinking it best to sober up a bit before dinner, Draco ordered two cups of strong, black coffee for himself and Blaise. As they sipped their hot drinks in subdued silence, Draco noticed a copy of that morning's_ Prophet_ sitting atop the bar. He reached for it and examined the almost smiling witch gracing its cover for the second time that day. As he re-read the accompanying article he was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea.

He slowly placed his mug back down on the bar, never tearing his eyes away from the paper in his hand and began to rise from his seat.

"What's your rush? Dinner's not for another twenty minutes and I'm not finished with my coffee yet," Blaise said, motioning for Draco to return to his seat.

"I'm not going to dinner," Draco announced, thoroughly distracted.

"What the bloody hell do you mean, you're not going? You just spent the past five minutes convincing me to go!"

"Blaise," he said seriously, focusing on his friend for the first time since picking up the paper, "I have just had the most brilliant idea." His voice was simmering with barely concealed excitement.

"What it is?" Blaise asked in confusion, but Draco didn't respond as he had gone back to staring at the front cover of the newspaper, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face.

"Draco, what in Merlin's name are you on about now? I hate when you do this. You come up with some bloody fucking brilliant scheme and you can't ever be bothered to tell me what the fuck it is!"

Draco still wasn't paying attention to his friend. His mind was reeling, teeming with possibilities.

"Look mate, whatever this genius idea is, I'm sure it can bloody well wait until after dinner."

This finally caused Draco to snap out of his torpor.

"No. It can't wait. I have to go," he said as he dropped _The Daily Prophet_ back onto the bar.

"Go where?" Blaise demanded.

"I've got to go see a guy about a thing," he said as he swept his cloak up around his shoulders.

"Oh well…that explains everything," Blaise mocked.

"Make up an excuse for my mother," Draco added as he swept from the bar.

"That's just great. No problem. I'll just pay the tab then, shall I?" Draco heard him shout a variety of obscenities as he made his way out of the pub, hearing a final, "Bloody wanker!" as the door closed behind him.

Draco strode purposely through the streets of Diagon Alley, darting around the busy Friday evening crowd of shoppers and revelers. It was nearly eight o'clock and the sun would be setting any moment, which served his purposes well. Though all of the Dark Arts shops had been banned from wizarding London, Knockturn Alley was still considered a dodgy place and he wouldn't do well to be seen creeping down there at night. With a look over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been caught by some pesky photographer, he cast a disillusionment charm on himself and turned the corner into the dark, winding depths of Knockturn alley, searching for the one man who could help him set his plan in motion.

**A/N: The title of this chapter was inspired by "All These Things That I've Done" by The Killers. I think the lyrics reflect where Draco is in his life right now. **

**I hope you are picking up on the many parallels between our two protagonists!**

**Big THANK YOU to Aidenk77, my kickass beta!**

**Please review!**


	4. Somebody's Watching Me

**Disclaimer: Just because I sometimes like to speak with a British and accent and pretend to be JKR doesn't mean I own any of her fantastic characters or the incredible world she created, but a girl can dream!**

**Chapter 4 – Somebody's Watching Me **

The wind gusted as Hermione slammed the kitchen door behind her and slumped to the floor. With her back to the door and her breath coming in heaving gasps she whipped out her wand and cast every untraceable, unplottable and undetectable charm she could think of upon her parent's house. She knew this was redundant since the house was already unplottable under the Fidelius charm and though she was confident in her spell work she was distinctly rattled at the moment and felt better knowing the extra wards were in place.

She had been followed again. Since the appearance of that article in _The Daily Prophet_ last week she'd felt like someone was watching her every time she left the house. At first she had easily dismissed her feelings as nothing more than paranoia, but today had been different. Today some unseen someone had actually grabbed onto her arm just as she reached one of the apparition points in Diagon Alley. She immediately changed course when she felt the invisible hand latch onto her arm and apparated to a deserted forest clearing rather than heading straight home. The moment she landed she blasted the unwanted hitchhiker away from her with a well-aimed curse, causing him to yelp in pain. She turned toward the sound, but before she was able to reveal her stalker's identity, the unmistakable crack of apparition told her that she had missed her chance. Remembering Mad-eye Moody's mantra of 'Constant Vigilance!' she apparated to half a dozen other remote locations before finally coming home.

Once her breathing returned to normal she rose to her feet and began making a cup of tea, hoping it might calm her frazzled nerves. She prepared her tea the magical way, too impatient to wait for the water to boil. She added a shot of Firewhiskey for good measure, lit a cigarette and sat down at the kitchen table to try to figure out who had been following her.

She didn't imagine that anyone could have found out where she was staying. Not a soul, not even her friends, knew the precise location of her parent's house. Not since the day she discovered that she was a witch had anyone from the wizarding world called on her at home. During her school days she had spent most all of her holidays living with the Weasleys and after the war both she and Harry had moved in to the Burrow full time. Then she'd moved to New York, visiting only briefly for holidays and other family gatherings. Hermione's friends knew that she preferred to avoid the topic of her parent's death and they had therefore never asked where she'd spent the first half of her muggle childhood.

On this particular visit, because of the length of her stay and her desire to keep out of the way, Hermione had lied and told her friends that she would be staying in a muggle hotel. Despite their initial protests and assurances that they would love for her to stay with them, they all allowed her stubborn nature to win out and apart from the occasional comment from Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, they did not badger her any further on the subject.

Hermione didn't feel the least bit sorry that she was somewhat isolated from the rest of the world. She preferred quiet and solitude. She shuddered to think about the constant stream of fan mail she used to receive following Voldemort's downfall and she certainly didn't miss the hate mail she'd received back in her Hogwarts days. The only people she wanted to hear from knew how to find her when they wanted to reach her and everyone else could bugger off as far as she was concerned.

Even her muggle family and neighbors were unable to find her at home. Before departing with Harry and Ron to hunt for Horcruxes all those years ago, Hermione had spent several weeks obliviating her family, neighbors and all of her parent's acquaintances. She had even gone so far as to implant false memories in their heads. Everyone who had ever known the Grangers, with the exception of her Aunt Imogen, believed that London Energy had paid a small fortune for her parent's property, resulting in Mr. and Mrs. Granger's permanent relocation to Australia. If anyone happened upon the house now, the only thing they would see was a large electric generator surrounded by a tall chain link fence covered in razor wire bearing a rusty metal sign that read:

_**DANGER! HIGH VOLTAGE!**_

_**NO TRESPASSING**_

Hermione was safe from meddlesome wizards as well. She protected the house (it was still difficult to think of it as _her_ house) with an Otuses charm, a handy little spell she had learned in New York that effectively blocks all owl post. Since so many American wizards live in high rise apartments, owls had become a highly conspicuous and ineffective means of communication. In New York, Delivery Elves had replaced owl post. Delivery Elves had not yet caught on in Britain, so she was unable to receive any mail.

She had also cut herself off from the Floo Network. The Ministry was as yet unaware that she had turned her parent's home into a magical dwelling. Therefore she had never been connected to the Floo Network in the first place and Ministry regulations prohibited them from connecting a muggle home on their end, thus ensuring her total privacy. Even if a wizard to were to pass by the house and detected her magic in the air, they could easily mistake it for a surge of electrical current coming from the generator. Perhaps Dumbledore might have been able to tell the difference, but she doubted that anyone else could. All in all, Hermione's house was probably the least detectable dwelling in all of Great Britain, apart from Hogwarts that is, and she intended to keep it that way.

Hermione had been extremely cautious every time she left the house. Not wanting a repeat of her experience at The Leaky Cauldron, Hermione had been careful to stick to muggle London or to apparate directly to one of her friend's houses when she did venture into the wizarding world during her first few weeks back in town. Fortunately her friends understood her desire for privacy and were happy to gather at Godric's Hollow or the Burrow rather than going out in public. However, after three weeks of staying home with three children driving her mad, Ginny had finally had enough and demanded a nice evening out. Ginny, Harry and Ron had arranged for what was supposed to be a quiet dinner for four as Katie wouldn't be joining them, opting instead to stay at home with the children because little Hugo had a cold. They were to dine at a very posh, very exclusive wizarding restaurant in Diagon Alley that catered to a wealthy clientele who valued privacy and discretion. Unfortunately, someone must have alerted the press to the fact that Harry Potter would be dining there that evening because almost as soon as they arrived they were surrounded by a media circus. Hermione had smiled for the cameras alongside her friends, but she was inwardly troubled. She knew the damage had been done and there was no going back now. She couldn't hide away at home any longer. Her cover was officially blown.

After the disastrous dinner at Chez Sorcière, Hermione thought it might look suspicious if she persisted in such a reclusive manner. She knew that there was bound to be something written about her in the _Prophet_ the following morning, so for the first time since her arrival in wizarding London, she ventured out to Diagon Alley to pick up the paper. She had been disgusted to learn that _The Daily Prophet_ reporters had picked up exactly where Rita Skeeter left off ten years ago, perpetuating the ridiculous rumors that she and Ron were anything more than friends. Of course they made no mention of the fact that Ron was happily married, but she was certain that in the following weeks someone would remember about Katie and the children and she could hardly wait for the home wrecker accusations to begin.

Every day that week Hermione's visage graced the cover of several wizarding newspapers and magazines. _Witch Weekly _printed daily photos of her waiting in line to buy a cup of tea, walking into Gringotts, photos of her purchasing a new pair of dragon hide gloves along with a bottle of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover. One particularly ambitious _Daily Prophet_ photographer had gotten close enough to photograph her as she purchased a copy of _The Daily Prophet_! She wouldn't have been surprised if Luna had run something about her in _The Quibbler_. She probably would have done, but thankfully there been another sighting of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack somewhere in Scandinavia and that took up much of that month's pages.

She berated herself for bothering to read that rubbish at all. Though Hermione had always believed that it was best to know what the enemy was saying, in this instance she decided that she'd rather not know. Feigning ignorance, she held her head high and went about her daily life as normally as possible. She realized only too quickly that no part of her existence in London could ever be described as normal. Large crowds formed wherever she went. People were always gawping at her in the street and shouting her name when she passed. Photographers and reporters seemed to pop out of the ground wherever she went. Harry and Ron assured her that she'd get used to it and that the novelty would wear off eventually, but Hermione was skeptical.

Though she was rather annoyed with her friends, particularly Ginny, for insisting that they dine out, a small part of her (a very, _very _small part) was secretly grateful that she didn't have to hide out anymore. Hermione was starting to get antsy sitting around her parent's old house all day. Though she had repaired the place so that it was once again habitable and clean, she still felt horribly awkward living there. She had boxed up most of her parent's belongings and what was left of her own muggle possessions, but she didn't know what to do with them so they were left scattered about the house. She repainted all of the walls, put in new carpeting and replaced most of the furniture, but it still didn't feel like anyplace she could rightfully call home. It somehow felt wrong moving into her parents old bedroom or reclaiming her childhood room, so she set herself up in the guest room seeing as how her stay in London was only temporary.

When the renovations were complete, which took an admittedly small amount of time with the help of a few well-placed spells; she was once again left with nothing to do. Hermione couldn't remember a time when she truly had nothing to do. At Hogwarts she always had plenty of studying to do, not to mention helping Harry defeat Voldermort. After the war she was so busy with the Death Eater trials and helping to rebuild wizarding Britain that she barely had time to spare a thought for herself. In New York she worked ridiculously long hours and always had her own research projects going on the side. This was done intentionally on Hermione's part. Idleness did not suit her. Without a project or occupation Hermione tended to think – a lot - much too much than was healthy for a person and it almost never ended well. Left to her own devices she tended to wallow in past memories and regrets and then she'd take out the bottle of Firewhiskey and well….

Refocusing her thoughts to the task at hand, she extinguished her fag, took a sip of tea and began to mull over the possibilities of who her stalker might be. Her pursuer was obviously magical, but that hardly narrowed the field. She was certain that the voice that had shouted in response to her curse had been male, but that too was little help. Her first thought was that the Ministry had finally caught wind of her illegal muggle obliviations, but law enforcement wizards weren't creepy stalkers. If they had been after her they would have simply arrested her on sight. No, that particular secret was definitely still safe.

She thought that perhaps her reappearance in the paper might have inspired one of those nutters who used to send her marriage proposals to stalk her now that she was unreachable by owl post. There was a time when she would get two or three marriage proposals a week. Most came from normal, though star-struck blokes, who fancied themselves in love with a famous war hero, but every once in a while she had received the odd letter that was rather frightening. A few had come from captured Death Eaters rotting in Azkaban that were clearly an attempt to intimidate her - Harry had put an immediate stop to that – but others were filled with the insane ramblings of the mentally deranged. These men were admittedly crazy, not particularly intelligent and were therefore unlikely candidates in this instance.

This man was a professional. If Hermione hadn't known better, she would think that he had put a trace on her. That was of course, impossible, as she had cast the untraceable charm herself, but it still amazed her the way he always seemed to know where she would be and when she would be there. Though she had no proof, she could swear that someone had even been following her on trips into muggle London. Deciding it was best to start by retracing her steps, she thought back to earlier in the afternoon when she'd first left the house.

She apparated to Diagon Alley in order to visit The Daily Brew, the little café she had been so taken with when she first arrived in London. In spite of the hordes of witches and wizards milling about in the street openly pointing and staring at her, the café was quiet and seemed to be far away from the chaos and noise of the outside world. She sat there for a while drinking a cup of tea and reading a book, trying to ignore the feeling that someone was watching her. When she peered around the small room, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Most customers took their orders to go as there wasn't much seating. The only patrons who sat in the room apart from herself, were a couple of elderly wizards who seemed to be discussing an article in _The Practical Potioneer _and a young mother who was wiping the remnants of a chocolate biscuit from the faces of her two small children. Neither seemed to notice Hermione's presence at all and certainly didn't seem to pose any sort of threat.

Despite her rational assessment of her surroundings, Hermione just couldn't shake the feelings of unease. She gathered her things, paid the bill and stepped out of the quiet bubble of the café back out into the bustling street. She surreptitiously looked over her shoulder as she walked, making sure to stop at several window displays and checking her reflection in the glass to see if anyone else stopped behind her. Seeing no one, she turned and peered into the distance trying to make out the shimmering outline of a disillusionment charm, but saw nothing.

It wasn't until she popped into Flourish and Blotts to pick up a book she'd ordered earlier that week that she felt certain she was being followed, though perhaps followed wasn't the right word. Unless she was very much mistaken, it seemed that her stalker was already in the book store, waiting for her to arrive. Although she didn't see anything out of the ordinary, she definitely felt a menacing presence. It had been years since she had been on the run from Voldermort and the Death Eaters, but her senses were still sharp and she learned long ago to always trust her instincts. Forcing herself to remain calm, she spent a few moments perusing the shelves before hurriedly exiting the shop. Trying desperately not to draw any additional attention to herself, she made her way to the nearest apparition point. That's when she felt a hand grab onto her arm…

She shuddered at the memory as she lowered the tea cup from her shaking hands. Taking several deep, calming breaths, she tried to concentrate on the facts and think logically about her situation. First, it was unlikely that this person, whoever he was, wanted to kill her or harm her in anyway. If that were the case he could have easily cursed her at several points during the week. Even if he didn't dare attack her in public he could have used the imperious curse or some other method to lure her to some secluded location. On the other hand, she supposed he could have been trying to learn her routine in order to strike at a later time. She blocked those unsettling thoughts from her mind and tried not to allow her racing emotions to overrule rationality. She wondered briefly if his appearance in Flourish and Blotts was an indication that she knew her stalker, as he seemed to know plenty about her. Though looking back, she supposed it wasn't particularly surprising that someone would search for her in a bookstore. Anyone could have easily found out about her love of books from the countless profiles that had been written about her in _Witch Weekly_ after the war.

She was thinking in circles and becoming more and more frustrated by the minute when her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her mobile phone. Rising from her chair, she made her way back over to the door where her bag lay discarded on the floor. She summoned her phone from the depths of her bag and smiled when she saw who was on the other end of the line.

"Hello Harry," she said perking up instantly, "How are you?"

"Hello yourself 'Mione," Harry said cheekily. "I would ask how you are and what you've been up to all week, but I suppose that's not really necessary is it? What with you picture plastered all over the pages of _The Daily Prophet_ and all..."

"Very funny Harry."

"…I can see that you've been extremely busy," he teased. "It's no wonder we haven't seen you all week. Why haven't you responded to any of my owls?"

"You know I don't receive owl post anymore. That's why I got those mobile phones for all of you, remember? They're so much more convenient than owls…and less messy."

"Yeah, well they're bloody difficult to keep track of too, especially with a four-year-old in the house. We've been teaching James to play hide and seek only he's taken the game to mean hiding everyone's things and laughing while they try to find them. We haven't been able to locate the car keys for weeks. Ginny only just found the blasted phone in the freezer this morning. At least an owl will come when you call it."

"Ever heard of a summoning charm?" she playfully chided. It still amazed her how quickly and thoroughly Harry had taken to the wizarding world. He had all but abandoned his muggle heritage and with the exception of an aging station wagon and the mobile phone Hermione and Ginny forced him to carry, Harry had no use for muggle inventions. Though Harry's lack of interest was nothing compared to Ron who hadn't inherited one ounce of his father's obsession with all things muggle. Needless to say, it was always an uphill battle for Hermione to coax her friends into seeing the benefits of muggle technology.

"Of course I tried a summoning charm, but nothing happened. I heard strange noises coming from the freezer, but I just assumed it had gone all cattywompus and needed to be repaired. With the keys, I'm figuring he flushed those down the toilet and there's no summoning charm that will bring them back from where they've gone, not that I'd want them back at this point."

Hermione laughed at her oldest friend.

"The joys of children…" Hermione sighed.

"Indeed," Harry huffed in mock annoyance.

"So, apart from harassing me about the blasted _Daily Prophet_, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"Well, we, that is, Ginny and I," he stammered slightly, "thought it might be fun to have dinner at The Three Broomsticks tonight. You know, for old time's sake."

"I don't know Harry. After what happened last time…" Hermione tried to keep her true fears from creeping into her voice.

"I know that those reporters can be a right pain in the arse, but there isn't going to be anyone to bother you in Hogsmeade. It's a tiny village. There's no reason for a reporter to hang out there."

It wasn't the reporters that Hermione was worried about, but she wasn't about to share her fears with Harry. Knowing Harry as she did, she just knew that he would overreact if he ever found out about her mysterious stalker. Before long he would have the entire auror department scouring the country for this guy not to mention setting agents to tail her everywhere she went. No, she felt it best to handle this situation on her own.

"I know, but…" she started.

"No arguments," he stated firmly. "We haven't seen you all week. Who knows how much longer you're going to be in town? We don't want to waste a single minute we have with you, 'Mione."

He was trying to make her feel guilty and it was working.

"Besides," he continued, "we have a surprise for you."

"Oh no," she groaned. "Ginny isn't going to try and set me up with someone again is she?"

"No, no it's nothing like that. Why do you always jump to the worst conclusions?" he teased.

"Excuse me Harry, but have you met your wife?" Hermione countered.

Harry laughed.

"Well, yes, I suppose she can be a bit overbearing at times…"

"A bit? Do you remember the last time I came home for Christmas? She tried to set me up with no less than five single wizards in the three days I was staying with you. I swore never to set foot in your house again after that."

She was obviously kidding, but Harry willingly conceded defeat.

"Yes I distinctly remember that Ginny's attempts at matchmaking were an unqualified disaster, but I've spoken with her and can assure you that she will make no such attempt on this visit."

"Be that as it may, I still don't know if I want to provide anymore fodder for those vultures at _The Daily Prophet_."

"Oh come on, 'Mione. You have to be there. It won't be the same without you!" he whined.

Harry was the one person on earth Hermione could never say no to, therefore with a certain degree of apprehension she agreed.

"Fine," she said with a sigh, "but you have to promise me that Katie is going to be there. I don't want any more of that tosh about Ron and me appearing in tomorrow's paper."

Harry laughed and assured her that Ron's wife would be in attendance.

"So we'll see you there at eight?" Harry confirmed.

"Alright, I'll see you then," said Hermione before ending the call.

Despite the fact that the Weasley clan drove her mental from time to time, and though she was not particularly looking forward to going out, she was grateful that she wouldn't have to be alone that evening. Hermione knew that once she was in the company of her friends she would have a good time. She always did. Hermione just wasn't used to being in the public eye anymore and she greatly disliked having all of her comings and goings scrutinized by the press.

That's what she liked best about living in New York. Across the pond she was known as Jane Wilkins. No one in Britain, not even Harry and Ron knew about her alias. It wasn't that she didn't trust them; she just wanted to keep that part of her life private. She feared that if her friends, or anyone else for that matter, ever found out about the extent of her illegal obliviations, her second identity or any of the other somewhat dubious measures she'd taken to keep her secrets safe, her life would become instantly more complicated.

The beauty of Jane Wilkin's life was its simplicity. Only her small group of friends and coworkers cared where she liked to shop, which wizard she chose to date or how she took her tea. That wonderful sense of anonymity had been one of the biggest draws when she decided to relocate to the States. The only way she could ever maintain that level of privacy in Britain would be to give up magic and live like a muggle and that was simply not an option.

Part of her wished that she could just run away back to her quiet flat and her anonymous life. Whenever she got an urge to run she had to constantly remind herself of her promise to Ginny to be there with her when the baby was born, though, truth be told, she never thought it would take this long. Hermione had fully expected to be back to her American life by now where everything was a lot easier and much less complicated. There were no horrible memories to plague her everywhere she looked, there was no large family constantly prying into her life and there was certainly no one trying to stalk her.

As she was firmly committed to staying in London for a few more weeks at the very least, Hermione decided that she wasn't going to spend the remainder of her time in London hiding out at home. She refused to allow a gaggle of reporters and some unknown wizard stalker to terrorize her. She had survived a war for Merlin's sake! She had come to the conclusion that the only way to discover the identity of her stalker was to continue to appear in public and hope that she would be able to outsmart him and figure out what he wanted from her.

At five minutes to eight, Hermione summoned all her Gryffindor courage and apparated to the village of Hogsmeade. Despite the fact that tomorrow would be the first day of May, winter seemed to be having its last word that evening. The wind whipped her long hair and she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders as she glanced up and down the deserted main street of the village. The late April chill added to the ominous, too quiet atmosphere. She didn't detect anyone hiding in the shadows, but she didn't intend to let down her guard for a moment either. Though she did her best to exude an air of detached calm, it was with no small amount of trepidation that she entered the familiar pub.

The moment she set foot inside, she was engulfed with warmth from the blazing fire in the hearth and she was immediately struck with the spicy scent of Rosmerta's delicious mulled mead. A smiling young witch came out from behind the bar, nodded at Hermione knowingly and gestured toward a large table at the back of the pub. Her mood instantly improved when she rounded the corner of the bar and saw her surprise.

Sitting around the large table laughing and chatting merrily were Harry, Ginny, Ron, Katie, Neville Longbottom, his wife Hannah, Luna Lovegood (now Scamander) and her husband Rolf. The sight of all of her closest friends together in one place warmed Hermione's heart immensely.

"Here she is!" Ron cried cheerfully.

"Hi everyone," Hermione said with a genuine smile. "This is quite a surprise," she said moving around the table hugging and exchanging greetings with Luna, Rolf, Hannah and Neville in turn.

"I couldn't remember the last time we all got together like this so I thought it was high time for a little reunion," Harry said looking fondly at everyone. "Do you like your surprise?" he asked Hermione.

"Of course I do! It's wonderful to see you all," she replied as she made her way to the only open seat at the table between Neville and Ron.

"That and I thought it would be a good idea to have plenty of reinforcements on hand to help me talk you into coming with us to the Minister's Ball tomorrow night," Ginny said with a smug smile at Hermione.

"I knew you two would have some sort of ulterior motive for inviting me here this evening," Hermione said glaring playfully across the table at Harry and Ginny.

"Don't look at me," Harry said defensively, "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"For the last time, Gin, I'm not going," Hermione said adamantly.

"Oh, but you have to come!" Katie urged sincerely. "It's the biggest event of the year, next to the Quidditch World Cup that is," she added with a glance at Ron who nodded in agreement.

Hermione didn't like arguing with Katie, who was always so sweet and even-tempered – the perfect foil for her husband, but she wasn't about to be bullied into anything she didn't want to do.

"Yeah 'Mione, we're all going to be there," Ron added before she could respond. "It hasn't been the same without you these last few years."

"The last ten years, if memory serves," Luna piped in.

"Did none of you happen to think that there might be a good reason why I don't want to go?" Hermione asked, releasing an exasperated sigh. "I'd prefer not to be reminded of that horrible time."

"I agree with you one hundred percent, Hermione," said Harry, "but," he added, quelling under his wife's glare, "I think we need to remember. The wizarding world is still healing. It's important for people to be able to get together and celebrate our collective victory and mourn our losses. We should never forget the atrocities that were committed against wizard, no, _human_ kind and the sacrifices that we all made. No one wants to see history repeat itself."

What could she say to that? The whole table sat in thoughtful silence for a moment pondering Harry's sentiment. It wasn't often that Harry said something so serious and profound, but when he did it was easy to see why he was indeed 'The Chosen One.'

"Hear, hear!" Ron shouted, raising his glass and effectively breaking the silence.

Anyone with a drink in their hand copied Ron's action and normal conversation resumed. Though nothing had been resolved, everyone, including Ginny had seemingly decided to let the issue drop for the moment. Desperate to avoid any discussion that might lead her back to the topic of the ball, Hermione struck up a conversation with the least likely person to care about such things.

"How have you been?" she asked, turning to Neville. "How are things at Hogwarts? Tell me everything," she insisted, jumping on the new topic with enthusiasm.

"Well, as you know, I've been back at Hogwarts for about four years now and things are going really well. I love teaching, though I never imagined that I would ever teach anyone anything," Neville joked lightly.

"Oh come on Nev, you were the best in our year in Herbology, next to 'Mione of course," Ron said, slapping Neville on the back.

The ever-humble Neville didn't respond, but smiled widely at Hannah.

Hermione was consistently amazed by how much Neville had changed since their Hogwarts days. Gone was the timid, clumsy, round-faced boy who was so often bullied by other students and terrorized by Professor Snape. The man who sat before her was well built, if just a bit stocky and exuded a quiet sort of self confidence that was very attractive. She heard that more than one of his female students had developed a crush on their favorite professor, not unlike her rather embarrassing attachment to Professor Lockhart in second year. Harry and Ron still wouldn't let her live that one down.

"Neville, you've left out the best part," Hannah piped up with a proud smile. "I thought you'd be bursting to tell them all who has just been appointed the new head of Gryffindor house…"

Joyful roars of congratulations followed this pronouncement from all around the table and as soon as everyone had a drink in hand, they toasted Professor Longbottom.

"What about you Hannah?" Hermione inquired. "What do you do while Neville is teaching? Do you live with him up at the school?"

Hermione couldn't remember any of her professors having spouses and she was very curious to know what kind of arrangement they had.

"Oh no, I've had my fill living in the Hogwarts dormitories thank you very much," she said with a smile. "Neville and I have a flat here in the village, just upstairs actually."

"That's wonderful. Do you work nearby?"

"You could say that," Hannah laughed lightly. "As a matter of fact, you are looking at the new landlady of this fine establishment."

"You're kidding! What happened to Rosmerta?"

"She finally retired. She had been here forever. I started working for her part time when we first moved to the village. She was getting on in years and needed an assistant. Once I was fully trained and she'd had enough, she passed the torch on to me."

"Oh Hannah, that's wonderful. Good for you."

Hannah smiled in response, seeming very pleased. Ginny began questioning Hannah on the secret ingredients of Rosmerta's famous mulled mead while Hermione turned her attention to the conversation between Harry, Ron, Katie, Luna and Rolf.

"…so you see it's been an exciting year," Luna said. "What with keeping up with the twins, writing, editing and publishing _The_ _Quibbler_ every month, in addition to Rolf's work on his book, we've been very busy."

"I guess you have," Harry said with a smile. "Seen any Crumple-Horned Snorkacks lately?" Harry asked with a devilish grin.

Hermione knew that Ron became furious at the mere mention of Luna's favorite mythical creature and that Harry was clearly goading him. As expected, Ron didn't disappoint.

"Why yes, actually-" Luna began, but was quickly cut off.

"Oh, come off it Luna! You're not still on about those bleeding things are you?" Ron scoffed. "If I never hear the words Crumple-Horned Snorkack again it'll be too soon!"

"Ron!" Katie admonished as she swatted him on the arm. "Behave yourself," she added with a pointed glare. "Ah…Luna, remind me how old are the boys now?" Katie asked, trying to deflect attention away from Ron's gaffe.

"The twins recently entered the terrible twos," Luna answered serenely, as though she hadn't heard Ron at all, "though I have to say that Lorcan is by far the more terrible of the two. Lysander is more the quiet, thoughtful type, like his father," Luna said, smiling fondly at her husband.

Hermione didn't know much about Rolf Scamander, other than the fact that he was a naturalist and a writer, but she thought that he seemed like a kind-hearted sort of man and it was obvious that he adored Luna. He was tall and thin with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He sat next to his wife with one long arm draped casually across her shoulders and seemed perfectly content to let Luna take the lead in the conversation and answer for the both of them.

"…and for your information," Luna continued calmly, directing her words at Ron, "we're taking an expedition to Scandinavia next month to investigate a recent Snorkack sighting. We've already scheduled several interviews with eyewitnesses who have written in to the magazine," Luna said, as if that settled the matter.

Hermione glanced once more at Rolf and was surprised to see that none of his looks betrayed even the slightest hint that he was simply indulging his over-zealous wife. Luna seemed to have truly found her perfect match. Hermione was glad for her, but indulged in the tiniest bit of sadness for herself at the same time.

"Will you be bringing the boys with you on your trip?" Ginny inquired, joining the conversation mostly in an attempt to diffuse another potentially awkward situation and to keep her husband from goading her idiot brother into speaking thoughtlessly again.

"Yes, we're very excited to take them on their first major holiday, though I am a bit nervous about the actual travel. We're still not sure if it's safer to go with a portkey or side-along apparition. How did you and Harry handle it when you brought the children to Majorca last summer?" asked Luna.

Hermione didn't listen to Ginny's answer. She was too busy observing the sea of happy couples before her - Rolf stroking Luna's hair in order to calm her nervous mother instincts; Ron giving Katie a sheepish grin as they held hands under the table, Katie's earlier irritation with him clearly forgotten; Harry, rubbing Ginny's protruding belly and piping in with the occasional travel tip as Ginny chatted with Luna; Neville and Hannah exchanging loving glances… It was wonderful and horrible all at the same time and at that moment Hermione felt lonelier than she could ever remember being.

As they ate, drank and laughed their way through the evening, Hermione, who had become a master of hiding her feelings over the years, did not let on that she was anything other than thrilled to be spending the evening in the company of her nearest and dearest friends. In fact, she was so skilled in the art of pretending everything was fine that she had almost convinced herself, until she was hit by a sudden chill. All of her muscles tightened and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She just _knew_ that he was there. Somehow, despite her best attempts at avoiding detection, her stalker had found her once again.

Looking around the pub, she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The smiling girl whom she had seen when she first entered The Three Broomsticks was delivering drinks to a middle-aged couple at the front, while a hulking brute of a man who vaguely reminded her of Gregory Goyle tended bar and served the handful of customers seated there. Though she had no tangible reason to do so, Hermione instinctively reached into her jacket pocket for her wand.

Unsurprisingly, it was Neville who first noticed the change in her demeanor.

"Hermione, is everything alright?" Neville asked her, clearly concerned.

"Fine Nev. Just a bit tired," she lied.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, yawning widely, "I think it's about that time."

"It is a school night after all," Hannah said, nudging Neville playfully.

"Yes, and I've got seventh year Slytherins first thing in the morning," Neville said, throwing another sidelong glance at Hermione.

As her friends were beginning the business of pulling on jumpers, coats and hats and gathering their things, Hermione was busy formulating a plan.

During a brief argument when everyone tried to gang up on a stubborn Hannah who was obstinately refusing to allow any of them to pay for even a portion of the tab, Hermione surreptitiously dropped her jacket and slid it under the table. A few moments later she followed the loud, laughing group out of the pub and onto the cobbled street where everyone was hugging and wishing one another a goodnight.

"Hermione, may we escort you home?" Rolf asked politely.

"That would be lovely Rolf, thank you, but wait…I've left my jacket. You two go on without me," Hermione said earnestly, gesturing to Luna, "I'll be fine."

"We'd be happy to wait for you," Luna supplied.

"No, really, that's very kind of you, but I can get back alright. You should get home to those beautiful boys of yours and I'll speak with you soon, okay?" Hermione persisted.

"If you're sure," Rolf said and with that he and Luna disapparated. Shortly thereafter they were followed by Ron, Katie, Harry and Ginny, who only managed to make one more plea for Hermione to join them at tomorrow evening's ball until Harry finally whisked her away and Hermione was left with Neville and Hannah who accompanied her back into the pub.

After a few minutes of half-hearted searching and feigned concern over her lost article, Hermione was about to put an end to the ruse when Neville emerged from under the table with a triumphant grin.

"Here it is," Neville said, handing Hermione her jacket.

"Thank you Neville. It must have fallen off my chair."

"Let me take you home," said Neville as he helped Hermione into her jacket.

"No need to trouble yourself. I'll be fine," Hermione urged. "Besides, you've got to be up bright and early to protect those seventh year Slytherins from the Venomous Tentacula," she said, trying to sound more chipper than she felt. "If your students are anything like the Slytherins I remember, you'll have to keep your wits about you and you'll need all the sleep you can get."

"They're not so bad," Neville conceded. Hermione wasn't sure if he was convinced, but Neville knew of her fiercely stubborn nature and was able to recognize a lost argument when he saw one. "Just watch yourself, alright."

"Sure thing, Nev," she said, giving him one last hug. "Goodnight Hannah," Hermione called loudly to his wife as she made her way to the door. She wanted to make sure that Mr. Stalker had heard her.

Hermione stepped cautiously out on to the darkened street and ducked into a nearby alley to avoid being seen by any of the neighbors who might be peering out of a window and waited. She didn't have to wait long. She could feel his presence before she saw or heard him. Turning away from the opening of the alley and bending down on the pretense of re-tying her shoe, she positioned her wand under her arm and trained it on the empty space behind her, hoping against hope that the alley was narrow enough to prevent him from avoiding her curse. Without another thought she yelled, "_Petrificus Totalus_!" and shot a full body bind jinx at her would-be attacker.

Miraculously, her curse hit him and as he fell to the ground, knocking over a rubbish bin on his way down, a corner of his invisibility cloak slid off of his face. She turned to face him and was surprised to see that he was much nearer to her than she imagined – only a few feet away. He must have cast a _Muffliato_ on his shoes so that she wouldn't hear him creeping up on her. _He's good_, she conceded silently, _but not that good_. The question was who the hell was he?

She whipped off his cloak and studied the man before her. She was sure that she had never seen him before. He was a small, dark man who couldn't be much taller than she was. She could see the tailored pant leg of a muggle suit peeking out from under his rumpled wizard's robes and a discarded fedora lay at his feet. His beady little eyes were fixed on her and he looked positively terrified.

"There are easier ways to meet women, you know," Hermione said, trying to sound as though she wasn't affected by his presence and rather enjoying his obvious discomfort as he lay glued to the hard, cold ground. "Now then, I'm going to perform legilimancy on you because I'd like to find out who you are and why the fuck you've been following me and I don't particularly want to lift the body bind and risk you screaming or running away again, alright?" she said simply. She felt it was only right to give fair warning before probing into someone else's mind. Hermione locked eyes with the little man, who couldn't look away if he tried and whispered, "_Legilimens_."

Instantly, a host of jumbled images flashed through her mind. He seemed to be making an attempt to block her, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. After only a few minutes and with minimal effort, Hermione was able to discover those things that he was most trying to conceal from her.

"Interesting," she muttered aloud after finally breaking her connection with the man's mind. "Okay, here's what's going to happen now," she said calmly, once she'd decided upon a course of action. "I'm going to relieve you of your memories. Don't worry – not all of them," she added hastily as though assuming that he would protest if he could. "While I'd prefer to erase myself entirely from your memory, I can see how that could be extremely problematic for you and you seem like a nice enough bloke. I'm actually somewhat interested to see how this whole thing is going to play out. So here's what we'll do. I'm only going to obliviate your memories from the last five minutes or so. Then I'm going to confund you and you're going to think that you came into this pub, saw me with my friends and suddenly decided to go home and go to bed. Understood?" she asked as if he could respond. "Good." She raised her wand and aimed it directly at the man's face when she stopped for a second and added, "You know, if you're going to stay in this line of work, you really ought to practice your Occlumency skills," then flicked her wand and said, "_Obliviate_."

**A/N: THANK YOU THANK YOU ****THANK YOU**** to Aidenk77 for a bang up beta job if I ever saw one! Thanks for putting up with multiple drafts and the months it took me to get this chapter right. **

**Also a huge thanks to everyone who added this story (or me) to their favorites or alerts and special thanks to those who reviewed or sent PMs – your encouragement is what keeps me writing! **

**Hope you enjoyed the update – Please review!**


	5. It had to be you

**Disclaimer: If I owned any of this or had even one tenth of JKR's talent I would live in a much less crappy apartment. **

**Chapter 5 – It Had To Be You**

Draco let out a frustrated sigh as he poured over the piles of newspapers and magazines littering his desk. He had read through all of them at least a dozen times and not one article contained even a shred of information that was remotely useful to him. Not that he had expected much of _Witch Weekly_ or _The Daily Prophet,_ as most of what they printed was utter rubbish, but he had hoped to gain at least a little bit of fresh insight on the elusive Miss Granger. However, every article that he read was merely a variation on the same theme. Giving up on the idea that he would magically find some new and pertinent information with yet another read through, Draco stacked the glorified gossip rags in a neat pile on his desk and got up to make himself a cup of tea.

It was nearly five o'clock in the morning and with the exception of the small pool of light emanating from his desk lamp, the entire building that housed MZ Enterprises was dark and that is precisely how he wanted it. He was expecting his first appointment of the day to arrive at any moment and it wouldn't do for anyone in the wider wizarding world, least of all a reporter, to see Draco meeting with the likes of Raul Bettencourt.

Raul Bettencourt owned a seedy little pawn shop in Knockturn Alley, but he was no ordinary pawn broker. His shop, Secondhand Spells,was merely a front in order to conceal his true occupation as a private investigator. In the years before the Second Wizarding War Bettencourt acted as an errand boy for several of the Dark Lord's followers. He was small time, far beneath the Dark Lord's notice, but he had his uses. He was impossibly sneaky and had a knack for knowing things he shouldn't. He rather reminded Draco of the late Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail as he was better known, in that he was small, not particularly powerful and he relied on others who were bigger and stronger than himself to do the fighting while he lurked in the background, never choosing sides lest he wind up on the wrong one. When rumors began to spread that the Dark Lord had returned, Bettencourt had hightailed it out of London and gone back to his native Brazil until well after the danger had passed.

Though few people in wizarding Britain even knew who Bettencourt was, never mind what he really did for a living, Draco didn't want to take any chances. He had severed ties with all of his former acquaintances who had even the slightest connection to his dark past and he wasn't interested in jeopardizing his newly minted reputation as an upstanding member of wizarding society by getting caught having a man like Bettencourt in his employ.

He wouldn't have hired a private investigator at all if he hadn't known from the start that it would be absolutely necessary. If he understood nothing else about Hermione Granger, he knew that she greatly valued her privacy. He hardly expected to find her listed in the Floo Directory (though he had checked in any case, to no avail) and of course he assumed that wherever she was staying would be unplottable, but he sent several owls all the same, only to have them all returned unopened.

That's why he was so glad that he'd had the foresight to contact Raul right away. Time was of the essence. He hired Bettencourt on the twenty-fourth of April, it was now the first of May and the fifth of June was fast approaching. He needed Granger's cooperation and he needed it soon if he was going to accomplish all that had to be done in time to make his deadline and he was beginning to get nervous.

So far Draco hadn't received any news regarding Granger's whereabouts from his wayward P.I. He had suspected that tracking down the famous ex-Gryffindor would be considerably more difficult than the typical cheating husband or troubled teenage runaway cases that Bettencourt usually handled, but he hadn't thought it would be _this_ difficult. Draco had given him all of the information he had on Granger: likes and dislikes, known associates, places she was likely to visit in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, but he realized grimly, his information was over ten years old and barely more detailed than the nonsense _The Prophet_ had been printing. Still, he expected to have heard something by now which is why he'd called the early morning meeting. If Raul didn't have something, _anything_ for him today…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his office door opening. Abandoning his still steeping tea, Draco abruptly turned towards the noise and was unsurprised to see that no one was there. He watched as the door closed of its own volition and heard the lock click softly into place. He crossed back over to his desk and sat down, addressing the thin air.

"Mr. Bettencourt," Draco greeted in a perfunctory manner, "I trust you haven't been seen?"

"Of course not, Mr. Malfoy," the small man said, removing an invisibility cloak and bowing to Draco, "I followed your instructions to the letter, sir."

"Good. Sit," he ordered, gesturing to one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs in front of his desk. "Well, what have you got for me?" he demanded, making no effort to hide his dislike for the man before him.

"Well, sir…you see…it has been very difficult…more difficult than perhaps…"

"Spare me your excuses," Draco snapped, effectively putting an end to the man's stuttering. "Did you follow that lead I gave you at the Leaky Cauldron? What did the proprietor have to say?"

"Ah, yes I did sir, but the landlord, Tom said that no one by that name had rented a room from him as far as he could recall…"

Draco held up a hand to prevent the man from rambling again. "I didn't really expect Granger to take up residence at that horrible little pub for long…" _Just long enough to sober up_, he added to himself. "What else have you learned?" Draco asked, staring menacingly down at the nervous looking man.

"Well Mr. Malfoy, sir, after an exhaustive search, I was able to track down Ms. Granger in Diagon Alley yesterday afternoon at Flourish and Blotts. I did some digging and found out that she had ordered a book that was scheduled to arrive that afternoon. I waited there for her all day long, hidden under the cloak of course, but as soon as she walked into the shop something seemed to upset her and she left right away. I know she couldn't have seen me… and I confess I was unprepared for such a hasty retreat, but I followed her out of the shop and caught up with her just as she reached one of the apparition points. She must have felt me grab onto her sleeve because rather than apparating home, she took us to some remote location and blasted me off of her…" Raul paused in his story to roll up his right shirt sleeve, revealing an angry red welt on his forearm. "I apparated away before she could discover my identity..." he finished, shuddering at the unpleasant memory.

"Alright," Draco said, clearly displeased. "What else?"

"I got another lead later that day from one of my associates who was drinking in The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade and heard Ms. Granger's name come up in conversation. It was a long shot, but I stopped at the pub on my way home just to be sure and there she was, sitting with a large group of people including Potter and Weasley…"

"Yes? And? Did you find out anything about where she's staying or how one might contact her?" Draco asked, practically pouncing on the P.I. who now looked as though he might be sick.

"Ah…no sir," Raul said reluctantly.

"Nothing?" Draco asked, incredulous. Bettencourt answered with a timid shake of his head. Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and massaging the throbbing blood vessels that were indicative of the beginnings of a nasty headache.

"I am disappointed in you Raul. My father always spoke very highly of you. As I recall, you've never failed like this before. Explain." Draco commanded.

"I'm very sorry sir," the dark little man said through a thick Brazilian accent which seemed to become more pronounced the more anxious he got, "I don't know what happened! I had her! I was in the pub watching her from under the cloak and then all of a sudden, I found myself at home with no recollection of how I got there!"

She must have known he was there and put a confundus charm on him. _She is good_, he thought to himself, _but not that good_. At least she hadn't figured out who had sent Bettencourt to tail her in the first place. If she had known, Draco was sure that Potter and a whole cadre of aurors would have picked him up by now. Silently grateful for the only bit of luck he'd had in weeks, Draco stood up and walked slowly around the front of his large mahogany desk, standing directly over the terrified little man.

"You see, here is the part I don't understand." He picked up a newspaper from the top of the tall stack on his desk and slapped it down hard on the arm of Raul's chair. "How is it that you can't seem to find her when she's been on the cover of the bloody newspaper everyday for the past week!" he shouted.

"As I said, sir," the man cowered lower in his chair, "it took me all week, but I did find her…"

"Yes, right before you lost her again," he growled. "Did you at least pick up any interesting information before your sodding waste of a brain was confunded?" he asked in exasperation.

"Well sir, her dinner companions spent a great deal of time trying to convince her to attend the annual Minister's Ball," he said hopefully.

"And did she agree to go?" he asked impatiently.

"Ah, no sir, she did not. Ms. Granger was quite adamant about not going, however, Mr. Potter's wife in particular seemed determined to convince her," he ended rather lamely.

"So what you're saying is that after a week's worth of following her, after a week of bribing practically every shop owner in the wizarding world, the only information you've been able to provide me is that Ms. Granger _may _or_ may not_ be attending the ball this evening." Draco seethed, glowering down at the man, effectively intimidating the crap out of him.

"Yes, sir," Raul said sheepishly.

"Get out," Draco said darkly.

"Ah, sir, there's still the matter of my…"

"OUT!" Draco bellowed, watching with grim satisfaction as the oily little man jumped up from his seat and sprinted towards the office door. Draco slammed the door behind Bettencourt's retreating figure and crossed to the far side of the room to retrieve the cup of tea he'd brewed earlier, only to find that it had gone cold. He vanished both the cup and its contents and slammed his fist on the table in temper.

What had he been thinking when he hired that imbecile? He should have known better than to delegate such an important task to someone like Bettencourt. Even if that sneaky little bastard had succeeded in finding her, what could he have done with the information? Shown up unannounced on her doorstep and asked for a chat? Or better yet, have Bettencourt apparate her away to some undisclosed location, effectively kidnapping her, so that Draco could force her into helping him? That's exactly the sort of thing that Lucius would have done, were his father still in a position to do anything, that is. Draco was disgusted with himself for having come up with such a feeble scheme in the first place and was now rather glad that it had backfired.

He needed to calm down, regroup and think of a new plan. Deciding that he couldn't bear to be cooped up in his office for the next several hours waiting for the work day to officially begin, he left, opting instead to take a walk in an attempt to blow off some steam. He ambled along the High Street in Diagon Ally in the direction of The Daily Brew, thinking that he might as well get a fresh cup of tea and a newspaper while he was out.

The sun was just starting to inch its way up over the horizon, illuminating the surrounding clouds and casting a fiery red glow across the eastern sky when he arrived outside the little tea shop. Though it was still rather chilly, the air was thick and heavy with the promise of a storm. Draco was reminded of the old saying, '_Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning…_' and hurried inside.

Once inside, Draco picked up a copy of _The Prophet_ and took a seat at a small table in the corner. Apart from the smiling middle-aged witch behind the counter who'd brought him his usual tea and muffin, there wasn't another living soul in the shop. This was a far more pleasant place to sit and think than his office. Here he could enjoy the quiet along with the delicious aroma of brewing coffee and fresh baked pastries without fear of interruption.

Tucking in to his light breakfast, Draco unfurled his newspaper and was surprised to see that Granger was not the headline story this morning. Instead, the front page article focused on some old codger who had worked at the Ministry for over fifty years and would be receiving the Order of Merlin at the Annual Minister's Ball that evening. Apparently Potter and Minister Shacklebolt would be the ones to bestow the honor. That gave Draco a moment's pause. Perhaps there was something to Bettencourt's information after all. If Potter was going to be in attendance then Weasley would definitely be there and surely, if the past was any indication, Granger would follow. She was loyal to a fault. Even if, as Bettencourt had said, she was adamant about not going, her damnable sense of duty would certainly override her disinclination for stuffy Ministry functions, at least where Potter and Weasley were concerned.

Then again, she had moved over three thousand miles away. According to the papers, she hasn't shown her face in wizarding society for nearly ten years before last week. Draco couldn't help but wonder why. Sure, he'd known plenty of disgraced wizards who, having found themselves on the losing side of the final battle, had opted to slink away into obscurity rather than become a social pariah, but he couldn't fathom why Granger had done so. She was one of, if not the most beloved witch in the whole bleeding country!

This brought Draco back to his original dilemma. How was he going to talk to Granger again and more importantly, convince her to help him? He hadn't been planning to attend the ball as Blaise was going to act as representative for the company that evening, but he would have to go now. That much was obvious. It was a long shot, but given the total failure of his initial ill-conceived plan, this was Draco's only chance of meeting her again in the foreseeable future.

Draco refolded his paper and sipped his tea thoughtfully for a while. What if she really had separated herself from Potty and Weaselbee? And what if she didn't turn up? He would have to prepare for that particular eventuality and find himself a date. He most certainly didn't want to spend the evening on his own, especially not when the entire Wizengamot sub-committee that had rejected his proposal last week would likely be in attendance. Merlin knew how much he hated these types of formal events. That's yet another reason he was so grateful for Blaise who enjoyed anything that involved scores of witches and an open bar.

It took Draco all of thirty seconds to decide which witch he would escort to the ball. Nicole Boulanger was the obvious choice for his date and he resolved to owl her as soon as he got back to the office, though he wasn't terribly worried about the short notice. He was sure that her father would bring her along to the ball in any case. Parties such as this one were proven breeding ground for the offspring of high-ranking government officials and foreign dignitaries. With Nicole on his arm, even if Granger didn't show and his primary objective was thwarted, he would still be able to make nice with Monsieur Boulanger and his well-connected friends.

He tried to convince himself that it was better this way. The Granger he knew would be much more susceptible to his idea if she thought it was being presented in a casual, off-hand manner. It couldn't seem like he was attempting to force her hand. He'd simply have to find a way to bump into her at the ball and get her talking to him again, making it all seem like a happy coincidence. They'll have a few drinks; he'll tell her his plan, playing to her goody-goody Gryffindor sensibilities until she inevitably came around to his way of thinking. Yes, that was the ticket. With any luck he would get what he needed from her and be home in bed by eleven. Feeling slightly more cheerful than he had when arrived, Draco paid for his breakfast and made his way back to the office.

By the time he arrived at the ball later that evening Draco's earlier good cheer had all but evaporated. He'd had to endure Blaise pestering him all day about his sudden change of heart and questioning his motives for agreeing to attend an event that Draco had been actively avoiding for the last several years. Draco, unwilling to divulge his true purpose, had told him some half-truths about wanting another chance to speak with Nicole's father, but Blaise didn't appear wholly convinced. He knew that Blaise wouldn't approve of his plan and though it went against his better judgment to exclude his partner and best mate from important decisions, this particular case needed to be handled with a delicacy that Draco alone possessed.

Nicole, on the other hand, had been delighted to receive his invitation and after a series of brief but playful admonitions supposedly designed to punish him for his thoughtlessness in not asking her sooner, she readily agreed to accompany him. Draco had been forced to spend the first half hour of the ball strutting around the atrium of the Minister's Mansion, arm-in-arm with Nicole, posing for pictures while she chatted merrily with members of the press. Unlike Nicole, who clearly relished being in the spotlight, Draco loathed all the pomp and circumstance and had to make a conscious effort not to openly glower at everyone in the vicinity.

Once the 'red carpet' portion of the evening was over, which had been moved inside the atrium to avoid the rain they'd been having all day, the doors to the grand ballroom opened and Draco escorted Nicole inside. Together they made a circuit of the room, Draco glad-handing all of the important Ministry officials and prominent members of wizarding society, all the while keeping an eye out for Granger. Under the best circumstances Draco found little enjoyment in the company of the wizarding upper crust and had to work doubly hard to pay attention to the dull conversations happening around him while surreptitiously scanning the room. More than once, Nicole had gently elbowed him in the ribs in order to regain his attention and though he was incredibly annoyed, he forced himself to smile politely, allowing Nicole to take the lead in the requisite social niceties. For the most part, he simply nodded, speaking only to graciously accept a compliment on his lovely companion or promising to relay tidings to his mother, who was not in attendance as she couldn't stomach the thought of going out in public in the evening without Lucius by her side.

A quarter of an hour later Draco and Nicole had settled into conversation with Monsieur Boulanger, a few of his cronies from both the French and British Ministries, their wives and Blaise who was currently turning on the charm for a young witch named Antoinette who, it later transpired, was the mistress of yet another member of the French delegation and who needed 'looking after' while her lover's wife was in town. Blaise was only too happy oblige. Draco was just happy that Blaise was preoccupied so he wouldn't have to put up with any more of his questioning glances every time he caught Draco looking at the door.

Thoroughly distracted by his self appointed task, Draco was having a difficult time following the thread of the conversation. He hadn't even heard her when Nicole exclaimed that she had spied an old school friend from Beauxbatons, Fleur Weasley, and wanted to say hello, until she was half way across the room. Unwilling to join her in conversation with any of the Weasleys and unable to pretend to be invested in his current discussion without Nicole there to speak on his behalf, Draco took the opportunity to excuse himself and made his way over the to the bar.

He ordered a Firewhiskey and stood off to the side of the bar, sipping idly as he scanned the room once more. The Order of Merlin Awards presentation was about to begin. All of the assembled guests were making their way over to their seats at the round tables that were situated around the perimeter of the dance floor. Potter and Minister Shacklebolt were standing on a little stage that had been set up on the other side of the hall. Draco spotted a slew of redheads and their spouses all seated around a large table at the front, directly below the stage, but there was still no sign of Granger. This was an extremely discouraging turn of events. He couldn't believe that she had actually broken up the famous Golden Trio of Gryffindor. Now what was he supposed to do? He had foolishly pinned all of his hopes on the idea that Granger, his former nemesis, would be able to save him and he felt even more ridiculous since all of those hopes were based on a drunken conversation that had occurred almost a month ago.

Before his mood had a chance to spiral all the way down into the pits of despair, his eyes were drawn to the youngest Weasley sibling who was slowly maneuvering her way through the crowd, one arm wrapped protectively around her protruding belly, clad in billowing pink dress robes that made her look like a giant salmon struggling to swim upstream. That sight alone would normally have been enough to make him snicker, but when he noticed the intended target of the pregnant Potter's trajectory, his mood was instantly lifted. There, standing just inside the doors with her back to the wall, half-hidden in the shadow of a large potted plant, was Hermione Granger.

Acting purely on instinct, Draco moved in the direction of the two witches who were greeting each other with an embrace, made slightly awkward by Weasley's girth, and conversing softly so as not to interrupt the proceedings at the front of the hall. _Clever girl…_ Draco thought as he crept cautiously to the other side of the potted plant, _sneaking in during the awards ceremony in order to avoid the press_. _Well done, Granger_. If that had been her aim, her strategy seemed to be working. No one else had noticed the arrival of one of the most famous and thus far, most elusive witches in the world as of yet.

For the first time since Granger's return, Draco was finally able to get a good look at her. He had of course seen plenty of her face when they met in the Leaky Cauldron last month, but she had been sitting on a bar stool and wearing a long overcoat the whole time, so he'd not noticed what a striking figure she possessed. None of the subsequent photos he'd seen of her in _The Daily Prophet_ could do her justice. She was fairly average in terms of height and weight, but her smooth pale skin, bright shining eyes and graceful feminine features gave her distinction. This evening she had on a long, black, sleeveless dress made of a satiny material that clung to her curves and more than hinted at a surprising amount cleavage. Her hair was swept up in a loose, low bun that looked as if it were being held in place solely by magic. When she turned to embrace her friend, Draco also noted that her dress was almost completely backless and he found that he very much appreciated the effect of her daring attire.

Keeping a safe distance away so as not to be seen, Draco hovered just near enough to catch some of their whispered conversation.

"I thought you said you weren't coming," the red head said, a smug smile playing about her lips.

"I changed my mind," Granger replied offhandedly.

"Well I'm glad you did," Ginny said, smiling in earnest this time, "otherwise I'm afraid I would've been forced to kill you," she added with a laugh. "Come on 'Mione, we've got a table up at the front."

"How long do you figure I'll make it without getting hounded by members of the press?" Granger asked wearily.

"Not very," her friend said ruefully and almost as if on cue a photographer caught sight of them and began snapping pictures.

Within seconds they were engulfed in a mob of flashbulbs and reporters fielding them with an endless barrage of questions. Draco abandoned his position near the door for fear of being absorbed by the crowd. Suddenly, the whole place was in pandemonium. He watched as Potter leapt off the stage and attempted to part the crowd in order to protect his wife and Granger. Shacklebolt began shouting commands in his deep stentorian voice to a group of hitherto concealed guards from the auror department who materialized seemingly out of thin air and began casting a series of calming charms in an effort to restore some semblance of order. In the midst of it all, the wizened recipient of the Order of Merlin continued with his acceptance speech, blissfully unaware of the fact that no one was paying him the least bit of attention.

The Minister's personal guards were very efficient and had the whole mess sorted out in the span of about five minutes. Shacklebolt took over at the podium, effectively cutting off the elderly wizard's remarks and sternly threatened to eject any member of the press (or anyone else for that matter) who even looked like they might think about causing a disturbance of any kind. Then he gestured for the band to play and relaxing slightly, encouraged everyone to have a good time, though he did instruct his guards to maintain a visible presence for the remainder of the evening.

Meanwhile, Granger was still in the center of a doting, though much more sedate crowd, making polite conversation and graciously accepting the well wishes of her adoring fans. Potter had hastily escorted his wife out of the fray and back to their table, throwing Granger an apologetic look over his shoulder. As uncomfortable as Draco knew she must be, Granger never let it show, seemingly taking it all in stride. At least a dozen people tried to be the first to ply her with a glass of champagne and from his vantage point near the bar, Draco could see that she barely sipped at the bubbly drink in her hand. In that moment he knew what his course of action would be. Unlike the rest of the idiots swarming around her, vying for her attention, Draco opted to do nothing at all. If his suspicions were correct, he was stationed at the most advantageous place in the room for someone wanting to 'accidently' bump into Hermione Granger.

Draco ambled back over to the bar, ordered a couple of drinks and simply waited. One by one, the throng of people around Granger began to thin and couples began to peel off onto the dance floor as the famed singer Celestina Warbeck took to the stage. Apparently, even Hermione Granger couldn't upstage the wizarding world's favorite songbird. As he glanced around the room, he caught a glimpse of Nicole gossiping with the wives and daughters of the French Ambassadors and was pleased to see that she was otherwise engaged. He only hoped she would stay that way until he was through with Granger.

While his back was turned, he almost didn't notice that Granger had finally extricated herself from the crowd and was making her way over to the semi deserted bar. She was determinedly not making eye contact with anyone, presumably in an attempt to avoid another conversation with a Ministry sycophant or vapid socialite. Draco affected an air of nonchalance and leaned back on the bar with glass in hand, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

"You look like you could use a real drink. If you don't mind, I've taken the liberty," he drawled, offering her the glass of amber liquid.

"Thanks," she said simply and accepted the drink, her expression unreadable.

They drank in silence for a few moments. Draco was treading carefully for fear of annoying her and causing her to run away before he'd had the opportunity to pitch his idea. Unfortunately Draco didn't even get the chance to think about trying to engage her conversation, as Ernie MacMillan sauntered up to Granger's other side and greeted her with an unctuous little bow.

"Ms. Granger, I must say that you look absolutely ravishing this evening," MacMillan said in a horribly smarmy tone.

"Er…thanks, Ernie. How've you been?" Granger replied, her expression a cross between discomfort and amusement.

"I am remarkably well, thank you. Perhaps you've heard that I've recently been nominated for an Order of Merlin myself," he said gesturing jovially toward the podium where the awards ceremony had just taken place, "for my work on several pieces of anti-Dark Arts legislation..."

"Yes, I believe I read something about that in _The Prophet_," she offered, politely.

"Ah yes, those reporters do like to make a nuisance of themselves, don't they," he sighed dramatically. "They're always trying to get a piece of us," MacMillan said with a good-humored smile, as if to commiserate with Granger's recent dealings with the press. "Perhaps you'd like to continue this conversation on the dance floor?" the oily git asked.

Draco had always hated Ernie MacMillan. He was a pompous ass, even back in their Hogwarts days, but tonight that pretentious prat had given Draco a brilliant idea. He was going to charm Granger into accepting his offer. She would be putty in his hands. He smirked to himself as he addressed the buffoon who was now pressing his foul lips to Granger's unwilling hand.

"Sorry MacMillan, but Ms. Granger has just agreed to dance with me. Bad luck mate." He threw in the last bit because he knew it would annoy the former Hufflepuff.

"I see. Well, there's no accounting for taste, is there?" he said with a phony laugh. "Perhaps I shall have the pleasure of your company later this evening then," he said as he brushed his lips against her hand once more.

"Perhaps," she said with a forced smile.

"Malfoy," he nodded curtly.

"MacMillan," Draco said in a tone that was dripping with disdain.

MacMillan took his drink and made his way over to a group of stodgy-looking Ministry officials, leaving Draco and Hermione alone.

"Thanks for that…" she said with a small smile, "but we don't actually have to dance. I'm woefully uncoordinated. It usually takes a considerable amount of liquid courage to get me on the dance floor."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he said as he took her hand and led her away from the bar. "I've already told MacMillan we were going to dance and you wouldn't want to make a liar out of me now would you, Granger?"

"I'm sure I couldn't if I tried Malfoy," she said with mock innocence.

"Besides, the way I see it, you owe me."

"Do I?"

"Of course," he drawled. "If I hadn't saved you just now, you would have that great smarmy git slobbering all over you, instead of the dashing, charming vision you see before you."

"Right," she said, rolling her eyes and laughing as he led her out onto the floor.

Still holding onto her right hand, he pulled her to him positioning her left hand on his shoulder as he placed his free hand lightly on her waist. The back of her satin dressed dropped so low in the back that the tips of his fingers brushed her bare skin. Unless he was very much mistaken, he thought he felt her shiver slightly at his touch. He was encouraged by her reaction to him. This was going to be easier than he thought and he smirked in a self satisfied sort of way over her shoulder.

Granger was surprisingly lithe and graceful despite her assertions to the contrary. She was perhaps a bit stiff at first, but slowly she began to let go and loosen up and he led her easily around the floor, all the while humming along to the tune Celestina Warbeck was crooning.

_It had to be you…_

_It had to be you…_

_I've wandered around, finally found somebody who…_

_Could make me be blue…_

_Could make me be true…_

_And even be glad, just to be sad, thinking of you…_

"How do you know this song?" she asked, looking up at him with a bemused expression.

"Oh, I've heard it dozens of times at these sorts of events I suppose," he replied as her twirled her around and spun her back into him, holding her a bit closer this time. "That and Ms. Warbeck is an old friend of the family. Mother is absolutely wild about her."

"Really?" she asked with surprise. "It's just that this is a muggle song. I thought Celestina only performed originals."

"I believe if Ms. Warbeck had her way, she would, but this was by special request of the Minister himself. He can't get enough of this muggle stuff."

"Kingsley? No kidding?"

In answer, he spun her around so that she could get a clear view of the man himself. Kingsley Shacklebolt and a Ministry witch whom he thought was called Mafalda Hopkirk were dancing right in front of the stage. The Minister looked positively transported as he sang along loudly with Ms. Warbeck, two octaves too low. Draco watched as a fond grin spread across Granger's face.

He had almost forgotten the reason for their dance and he spun her away from the Minister so that he might bring the conversation around to his proposal. However, just as he was about to open his mouth, the youngest Weasley waddled over to them making a horrible high-pitched ringing noise.

"'Mione your…" she stopped when she spotted him. "_Malfoy?_" She shot Granger a look of incredulity. "I…ah…I'm sorry. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said with no attempt to hide the implied innuendo, "but your mobile has been ringing for the last ten minutes and since practically everyone you know is in this room, I thought it might be important."

The rotund red-head handed Granger a little silver device that was apparently the source of the horrid noise.

"Thanks Ginny." She glanced at the front of the device as it flashed and blinked. "I'll have to take this outside. Please excuse me," she said and stepped away from him.

He eyed the device suspiciously as she moved through the crowd to the balcony at the opposite end of the ballroom.

"Relax Malfoy; it's just a mobile phone," the red-head said. At his look of incomprehension she continued. "It's a muggle thing that lets you talk to people from practically anywhere in the world. Like a little portable fireplace."

He still didn't quite understand, but he would be damned if he was going to let some stupid muggle noisemaker derail his plans.

"You'll have to excuse me, Red. I have some business to attend to."

"Uh-huh. Sure you do, Malfoy." She looked almost comical standing there with a hand on her hip, her huge swollen belly stuck out in front of her with her head cocked to the side and a smug look on her face.

He merely scowled at her as he hurriedly turned to follow Granger out onto the balcony. Though the rain had apparently stopped, the sky was still a mass of dark, swirling clouds that threatened another deluge at any moment. He stopped in the doorway to listen to her conversation.

"Sorry about that, Kevin. I was in a noisy room…"

_Who the bloody hell was Kevin? _

"No, you're not interrupting anything. Go ahead."

_That stung a bit._

"What do you mean he's going to pass?" she demanded angrily, apparently waiting for a response. "I see. Well then tell him he's an idiot."

He thought she looked rather ridiculous holding that silver thing up to her ear and seemingly talking to herself, but he dimly registered that she must have been speaking to someone from her office. The thought was oddly comforting.

"Fine, then you can quote _me_ and tell him that _I_ said he's an idiot."

She began pacing back and forth across the balcony now, but was too agitated to notice him standing behind her.

"Well if he's truly prepared to turn down a million galleon idea simply because '_it's never been done before_,'" she adopted a whiney nasal voice with an American accent, "then that's precisely what he is!"

She continued her rant, but Draco stopped listening. As he watched the fiery witch pacing in front him, he was further convinced that she was exactly the person he needed lobbying for him at the ministry. Now he just needed to figure out a way to get her to do it.

Granger had apparently ended her conversation and closed the little device with a snap, but she was so absorbed in her thoughts that she still hadn't noticed him. This suited him just fine as the beginnings of a plan were coming together in his mind.

He pulled a silver cigarette case out an inside pocket of his jacket, placed one between his lips to light it, then stepping out from the shadow of the door frame he drawled, "I thought those muggle contraptions weren't supposed to work in the wizarding world?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice and he smirked at her.

"What? Oh. They're not, but I've fixed it so that those rules don't apply."

His smirk grew wider.

"It seems like many of the rules don't apply when it comes to you. Your enhanced fags are one thing," he said as he took a drag from his regular cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the damp night air, "but now you're tinkering with muggle electronics too? Why Miss Granger, I do believe that is illegal."

"Perhaps in Britain it is," she countered smugly, "but this wasn't made in Britain. In the states, all the wizards are using mobile phones. They are so much more convenient than owls or the floo network. Unlike normal muggle electronics, they can subvert all magical barriers and they run solely on magic instead of batteries so they never lose power. It's only a matter of time before they catch on this side of the pond. I know my company is dying to start exporting them here. Not that I'd want them to at this point. If they're too stupid to pass up a brilliant idea when it's shoved right under their noses…Making millions off my ideas and they have the nerve to tell me…" She trailed off muttering to herself about close-minded idiots. She had unknowingly given him the perfect opening.

"Well if you're so unhappy with your current employer, why don't you leave?"

She seemed rather taken aback by his question and hastened to answer.

"It's not as bad as it sounds. I just get frustrated with my boss. Getting him to accept a new idea is like pulling teeth," she vented.

"That certainly sounds unpleasant."

"It's a muggle thing." He nodded in acknowledgement, though he had no earthly idea why muggles would want to pull their teeth out. "Besides, where would I go? I suppose I don't have it all that bad. I mean, how many employers would willingly give someone an indefinite leave of absence?"

"I can think of someone."

"Really? Astonish me."

"I would, for one."

"You?" she asked in surprise. Then she erupted into laughter.

"Have I said something funny?"

"Oh come on Malfoy, you're not seriously asking me to work for you?" She erupted into laughter again.

"I am absolutely serious," he said with a hint of irritation.

Her laughter continued, louder than before. This was not going at all as he'd planned. It was time to bring out the big wands.

"Very well Granger, if you're not prepared to at least consider my offer, I'm afraid you leave me no choice but to inform a certain reporter we both know about certain facts pertaining to a certain former Gryffindor…"

"And what _facts _might those be?" she inquired with mild interest.

_At least that put an end to her damn laughing. _

"Oh, just the fact that everyone's favorite war hero was drunk off her arse in the Leaky Cauldron last month in front of countless witnesses…" he trailed off, letting his threat hang in the air and taking another drag.

He waited for the shouting to start, but it never came. Instead she merely shook her head in amusement. Taking a few steps towards him she reached up and took the fag from between his lips. He watched her, dumbfounded as she leaned against the railing of balcony and took a long drag, then tossed the remains over the side onto the wet pavement below. When she turned around to face him once more she shot him a condescending look.

"First of all, _Malfoy_," she said his name with the utmost contempt, "the only person, aside from you, who could truly attest to the amount of alcohol I consumed that evening is Tom and he would never rat me out because he likes me better than you. Secondly, any of the other 'witnesses' you speak of would be much more likely to mention the fact that you and I spent so much time drinking together rather the amount we drank." He tried to interrupt her, but she held up a hand to stop him. "Thirdly, I know you hate being in the paper as much as I do and we both know that any story Rita Skeeter is going to print will be some rubbish about a secret torrid love affair, so if that's what you want then by all means Malfoy, do your worst."

She called his bluff. _That was unexpected_.

"Oh and Malfoy," she called over her shoulder as she strutted back into the ballroom, "if you know what's good for you, don't even think about trying to have me followed again."

With that, he watched as her retreating back melted into the crowd.

**A/N: 'It Had To Be You' (because a little foreshadowing never hurt anybody) was written by Isham Jones with lyrics by Gus Kahn. Since Celestina Warbeck has yet to release any of her recordings in the muggle world, I had to make do with the following crooners: Ella Fitzgerald, Harry Connick Jr., Betty Hutton, Doris Day, Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday and my all time favorite Bing "The Bingle" Crosby. **

**Thanks to Aidenk77 for another stand up beta job! If you're interested in Harry/Hermione or Harry/Luna pairings you should check out his work! **

**I just have to state for the record that I am a little bit in love with this chapter and I hope you like it too! Please review!**


	6. Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

**Disclaimer: In an attempt to become more like JKR I started playing minesweeper during bouts of writer's block…only it didn't so much work out for me. Instead of the brilliance that is the HP series, I got precious little writing done in the last few months and I ended up with an unhealthy minesweeper addiction to boot – never mind the fact that I can't even touch JKR's high score of 90 seconds at expert level. I come in at a paltry 134. *Hangs head in shame* Anyway…**

**Chapter 6 – Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop**

"Okay. Spill," Ginny commanded, resting her steaming cup on the table and glaring impatiently.

"For the last time, there's nothing to tell!" Hermione exclaimed in exasperation, eyeing her friend from across the small booth.

"_Nothing to tell_?" she repeated, arching her red eyebrows, incredulity clearly etched across her face. "Come on Hermione, first you show up at the Minister's Ball after assuring everyone multiple times that you're not coming. Secondly, out of all the men at the ball clamoring for your attention, you choose to dance with Draco sodding Malfoy. Then you meet with him out on the balcony _alone_ at which point you both disappear for the rest of the night, and you're honestly going to sit there and tell me that NOTHING HAPPENED!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," Hermione reiterated for what felt like the hundredth, and hopefully last time. "And will you please keep your voice down?" she hissed, glancing around the tiny tea shop hoping no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. She hadn't seen any members of the press buzzing about that morning and so far the staff, along with a handful of quiet patrons at The Daily Brew, had thankfully left them alone.

"Well, the cover of this morning's _Prophet_ tells a very different story," Ginny pressed, slapping a copy of the morning paper on the table.

Hermione was beginning to think that pesky periodicalmay well be the death of her. Just when she thought the media had finally moved on and grown tired of gossiping about her supposed 'Rekindled Romance with Ronald,' a new headline had popped up that very morning linking her to none other than Draco Malfoy.

_**Golden Girl of Gryffindor caught consorting with Billionaire Business Mogul Malfoy! **_

Despite her annoyance, she at least had to give them credit for creative use of alliteration. She merely skimmed the article itself, unable to stomach any more speculation about secret affairs and scandalous rumors. It was all errant nonsense anyway, the kind that gullible witches and wizards ate up like breakfast, complete with a full colour photo. It was the photo that was particularly damning. Even Hermione had to admit that, taken out of context, an objective observer might easily mistake them for lovers.

The photographer had caught them dancing together, at the precise moment when Malfoy had spun her into his chest and slipped one hand around her back, resting it low on her waist. She shivered slightly as she remembered the feel of his cool fingers on her bare skin and she stared down at the picture on the front page to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks. Hermione watched in embarrassment as he revolved them on the spot, humming low in her ear as she smiled broadly over his shoulder. Of course she hadn't been smiling at Malfoy at all. Minister Shacklebolt singing along to Celestina Warbeck had been the cause of her mirth, but the photo didn't capture the true object of her attention. To the whole of wizarding Britain, it appeared as though she and Malfoy were sharing a terribly intimate moment. She shuddered again and refocused her attention on Ginny.

"And since when has the _Prophet_ cared about printing stories that bear even the slightest resemblance to the truth?" Hermione countered waspishly, flipping the paper over and pushing it off to the side.

"Normally I would agree with you," her red-headed companion conceded, "but I saw the two of you with my own eyes and so help me Merlin, I'm not going to let the subject drop until you tell me every last juicy detail."

Ginny had been badgering Hermione for details about the previous evening since the moment they'd arrived in Diagon Alley that morning. Hermione supposed she should have seen it coming. The two friends had a long standing ritual of meeting for breakfast after formal occasions and important dates in order to recap the evening's events. This tradition dated back to the morning after the fiasco that was the Hogwarts Yule Ball when Hermione had escorted Victor Krum to the dance, much to the consternation of Ron.

Hermione sighed. She had really been looking forward to spending some time with Ginny _sans _children, brothers and spouse. Hermione still loved Harry and Ron as if they were her own brothers, but she and Ginny had developed a special bond over the years, partly because she was a much better correspondent than her husband and brother combined, but mostly because Hermione had always valued Ginny's ability to deliver sound, non-judgmental advice. Even when Hermione had confided in her that she didn't think her relationship with Ron was going to work out; Ginny was completely supportive and even went so far as to help smooth things over with the highly disappointed Mrs. Weasley.

Though they had grown somewhat apart over the last several years, what with the demands of career and family, Ginny could still read her like a book. She was annoyingly observant and didn't miss a trick. Hermione knew she would have to tell Ginny something of her meeting with Malfoy last month, but she certainly didn't want to go into the whole debacle of Malfoy's halfwit private investigator and ridiculous job offer. She stared out the window at the iron grey sky, watching the light drizzle speckling the glass and debated how much she could reveal.

"Alright, here's the big juicy story," Hermione began, deciding on the half-truth. "Last month when I first arrived in town, I ran into Malfoy at The Leaky Cauldron..."

"What were you doing there?" Ginny asked, pouncing on the small detail with gusto.

"It was late and I hadn't sorted out where I'd be staying yet so I took a room at the Leaky," Hermione shrugged as if it were no big deal.

"I told you a thousand times that you could stay with us!"

"I know, but as I said, it was quite late and I was too exhausted to be social…"

"…but you felt like being 'social' with Malfoy?" Ginny asked with a wry smile.

"Ugh. Gods Ginny, no! I just ran into him, we talked for a bit, he left and I went to bed. End of story."

"Well then what was last night about?" Ginny fired, undeterred.

"He happened to be standing next to me at the bar when Ernie MacMillan corned me. It seems he hasn't changed much from the pompous git he was back in school."

"Yeah, he's always trying to suck up to Harry at the Ministry, but sod Ernie MacMillan, get back to the good part. Tell me more about Malfoy."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a bit of a crush, Gin," Hermione said, smiling.

"Ha-ha. Nice try 'Mione. Get back to the story."

"Fine," she huffed. "Ernie was being a smarmy git as usual, Malfoy must have seen that I was uncomfortable and he asked me to dance so I'd have an excuse to get away from MacMillan. That's it, really."

Ginny took a sip of her tea and looked as though she was processing this information, scant though it was.

"What happened on the balcony?"

"Nothing," Hermione lied. "I was talking on the phone with Kevin, my assistant in New York, and Malfoy came outside for a cigarette. I needed to tend to some important work matters, so I left," she added vaguely. "I have no idea where Malfoy went, what he did or with whom, but he certainly wasn't with me."

"So you didn't talk to him at all while you were out there?"

"We may have exchanged a few pleasantries, but that was all." Hermione was beginning to feel uncomfortable with all of the lying by omission. Ginny didn't look particularly convinced in any case.

"Strange," Ginny mused. "He must have apparated straight off the balcony then, because no one saw him after that."

"Why would any of you be looking for him?"

"We weren't. It's just that some French girl, a friend of Fleur's I think, came up to our table and asked if anyone had seen him. I told her that I'd seen him go out onto the balcony and she left, presumably to go look for him. I guess no one told her that we're not on such friendly terms with Malfoy. Don't get me wrong, Harry has done a bit of business with him and there isn't any open animosity, but he's not someone we'd invite round for tea if you know what I mean."

"I know all about our history with Malfoy, thanks," Hermione said warily.

"I just meant that, if you were interested in becoming more 'social' with him, I don't think it would be such a big deal…" Ginny said in an attempt at an offhand manner.

"I have no idea where this is coming from and I can't imagine what might lead you to believe that I would have the slightest interest in Malfoy."

"I can't imagine why you wouldn't!" Ginny said, unable to contain herself any longer. "Just look at this picture!" she added, grabbing the newspaper and shoving the moving photo in Hermione's face. "You can deny it all you want," she said with a knowing look, "but deep down you have to admit, there's chemistry there."

"That's ridiculous!"

"It's not! I mean, he's smart, stable, handsome, rich, age appropriate – not like that last bloke…"

"You mean the bloke YOU set me up with!"

"What? You said you were looking for a more mature man," Ginny said defensively.

"Mature, yes, but that guy was positively ancient. He was practically old enough to be my grandfather!"

"Well he looked a lot younger in his picture and that's beside the point. Give me one good reason why you shouldn't go for Malfoy."

"One! I could give you a thousand reasons! One, he's Draco Malfoy, my childhood nemesis. Two, even if he wasn't a total prat, I'm leaving soon and don't want to start a relationship with anyone! Three, you said he was out with some French girl. I'm not the least bit interested in starting something with someone who already has a girlfriend, least of all Malfoy…" Hermione ticked the reasons off with her fingers.

"I said give me one _good_ reason, not three lame half-hearted ones." Ginny smiled, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "Okay, so he's Draco Malfoy. So what? You said yourself that you've had a few pleasant conversations with him. Harry's worked with him. He can't be that bad anymore. I'm sure he's outgrown his…more prattish tendencies."

"What difference…?"

"Two," Ginny went on as though she hadn't heard her, "Who cares if you're leaving soon? That's no reason not to have some fun with the guy. It's not like you have to marry him…"

"Oh, please Ginny…" Hermione practically gagged.

"THREE!" Ginny shouted over her friend, "I wouldn't worry about any French girlfriend. She couldn't mean that much to him if he left her last night without even saying goodbye…"

"Like I said, total prat," Hermione said as if that settled the argument.

"Maybe so," Ginny said, raising her hands in mock surrender, "but you've got to admit, he's one tall, blonde, sexy prat."

"Why thank you, Red," came a voice from behind her. It was the last voice on earth Hermione wanted to hear at that moment. "…but I wouldn't let Potter hear you talk like that. As I recall, he was always rather the jealous type, wasn't he?"

_Seriously_, Hermione thought. What in the name of Merlin and the Four Founders had she done to deserve this? The universe was clearly punishing her for something.

"Speak of the devil," Ginny said, positively beaming, without the least hint of embarrassment.

"Granger," he said, acknowledging Hermione with a smile. "It seems like despite our best efforts we made the front page after all."

"Hello Malfoy," Hermione said, exhaling through gritted teeth, "yes, I suppose we have."

Malfoy flashed her one of his trademark smirks…an unholy, make-you-want-to-slap-him-silly kind of smirk.

"I confess I'm surprised to find you still in town. Based on the tone of your conversation last evening it seemed like you were needed back in New York…"

"My assistant Kevin is perfectly competent and able to handle things in my stead, thank you very much," she snapped acidly.

"I'm sure he is," Malfoy said with a polite smile. "It's just that the Hermione Granger I remember was never quick to delegate her work to anyone else. It must be something important that's keeping you here."

"I don't see how that's any of your busi-"

"She's here to help me and Harry when the new baby arrives," Ginny answered, interrupting the now fuming Hermione.

"How wonderful!" Malfoy exclaimed, in a tone that conveyed the best imitation of sincerity Hermione had ever heard. "May I ask when you're due?"

"Of course," Ginny replied delightedly, placing her hands demurely on her stomach, "I'll be two weeks overdue tomorrow actually."

"Well I guess your little one must be very comfortable in there."

"Oh, he is," Ginny said, thoroughly charmed, "at least that's what I keep telling my Mediwitch. She's been trying to convince me to try some experimental charm to induce labor, but I won't hear of it. I've already had three children _au natural_ and I'm perfectly happy to wait this one out until he's good and ready to make his appearance."

The two carried on like that for several minutes while Hermione tried to compose herself. She scanned the room surreptitiously to see if any reporters had followed Malfoy into the shop, but it appeared as though he was alone. Miraculously, no one seemed to be paying them the least bit of attention.

When Ginny suddenly excused herself to go the loo, Hermione rounded on Malfoy.

"I thought I told you to stop following me!" she whispered vehemently. "Honestly, you're like a case of Dragon Pox that won't go away."

"Granger I hate to be the one to burst your deluded bubble, but _I_ haven't been following you anywhere. This happens to be my favorite café in all of London. I come here all the time," he said smugly.

"I'm sure you do," Hermione replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

As if on cue, a waitress appeared at the table, where Malfoy had made himself quite at home occupying Ginny's vacant seat, and asked if she could get them anything.

"My usual please, Wendy," he said with a charming smile.

"Coming right up Mr. Malfoy," Wendy the waitress said returning his smile, obviously pleased that he'd remembered her name. "And for you?" she added, turning to Hermione.

"Fine, thanks," Hermione said with a curt dismissal, as if the waitress had come round with the sole purpose of irritating her.

Wendy hardly seemed to notice Hermione's mounting ire and hurried away to fix Malfoy's breakfast.

"You know Granger," he paused for dramatic effect and leaned across the table, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "if I didn't know better I'd say it's you who can't seem to stay away from me…"

He was deliberately trying to rile her up and she knew it. It wasn't going to work though. For the entirety of the last week she'd been jumpy, skittish and sick with worry about her stalker, only to discover that Malfoy had been the cause of it all. Last night, she finally felt like she had gained the upper hand with him after embarrassing herself at The Leaky Cauldron and she wasn't about to let him tip the scales in his favor again. He could sit there at his ease and chat with Ginny all he liked, but Hermione was not going to rise to his provocation. If he wouldn't leave her alone, she would simply have to ignore him.

"Listen Malfoy," she said, lowering her own voice to match his tone, "I don't know what you're playing at, but I don't want any part of it. Understand? Now please, go away."

"Come work for me."

"No." she replied, flatly.

"Come on, it's a temporary position, no more than a month and I'll pay you double, no…triple your current salary."

She looked up and cocked her head to the side exhaling slowly as though she were mulling it over, then quick as a flash she resumed her deadpan expression, locked her eyes onto his and said, "No. Please leave me alone."

Without waiting for him to respond, she snatched up the newspaper from the table and held it up in front of her, resolutely avoiding both the photo on the cover and the man himself who was currently staring down at her with a bemused expression. He was silent for so long she actually allowed herself to hope that he'd gone, but then he spoke again.

"It's actually a rather flattering photo if I do say so myself."

She pointedly ignored him.

"I mean, I look spectacular," he continued, undaunted, "and you don't look half bad yourself, Granger."

Hermione had to exercise every last bit of patience she possessed not to simply roll up the newspaper and start beating Malfoy about the head and neck with it. He was like a fly she desperately wanted to swat.

"Even if by some miracle no one actually reads the article, the picture alone…" he continued, trailing off as if choosing his words with extreme care, "…you know what they say about a picture painting a thousand words…"

"Malfoy, if I believed everything I read or in this case _saw_ in _The Daily Prophet_, then you would've been married a dozen times over and I'd have at least six children by now."

She cursed herself for rising to Malfoy's bait and was almost glad when Wendy the waitress came back to their table to deliver Malfoy's 'usual,' an English muffin with butter and jam and a cup of what looked like black tea. At least if his mouth was full he wouldn't speak. He thanked the simpering Wendy before tucking in to his breakfast. They sat there for several long, awkward moments where the only sounds that passed between them were the crunching of Malfoy's toasted muffin and the rustling of Hermione's newspaper.

"What are you reading?" he asked after he'd finished eating.

"If you're so interested, why don't you go buy a copy for yourself?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

"I have no interest in that rag whatsoever," he said, gesturing at _The Prophet_ with disdain, "but I find myself terribly interested in whatever it is that's making your brow furrow in such concentration."

"What my brow does or doesn't do is none of your concern," she said, hitching the paper up higher so that it covered all of her face.

"You didn't answer my question…" he said, tugging a corner of the paper down and peering at her over the top of it.

"Would you look at that?" she retorted and snapped the paper back in place.

"Granger, I'm trying to make polite conversation here. You're being terribly rude."

"You're not going to leave me alone are you?" she asked, sensing defeat.

"No, I think I'd be quite happy to sit here and chat with you all day," he said, flashing an ingratiating smile.

"Fine," she huffed indignantly, "if you must know, I'm reading an article about the debate over whether or not hippogriffs should retain their 4X classification of 'Dangerous' or be downgraded to a 3X 'Approach with caution' as defined by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Of course it's ridiculous that they've been classified as dangerous creatures for this long…" she bristled, scanning the rest of the article as she spoke, "…looks like that old hag Dolores Umbridge actually wants their status to be upgraded to a 5X or 'Known wizard killer/Impossible to train or domesticate/ Should be exterminated.' What a complete nutter! It's a wonder they still allow that woman to step foot inside the Ministry."

"I think she's absolutely right."

"You've got to be kidding me! There isn't a single documented case of a hippogriff killing or even doing any kind of lasting damage to a human."

"Excuse me, but perhaps you've forgotten about the time one of those bloody beasts nearly tore my arm off!"

"Oh yes, how could I forget? 'I'm dying, I'm dying…It's killed me!'" Hermione dropped the paper and cradled her arm to her chest, mimicking Malfoy's panicking cries from third year Care of Magical Creatures class.

"Very funny, Granger. Would you like to see the scar?" he replied testily, pushing up his right shirt sleeve.

"I don't see a scar."

"It's very faint, but it's there," he said indignantly, shoving his shirt sleeve back down.

"Don't be so melodramatic. It was only a scratch. I'm sure Madame Pomfrey had you sorted out in about five minutes. Though I seem remember you milking your 'injury' for at least two weeks after that. 'Professor Snape, I can't cut my daisy roots because of my arm. Sir, I need someone to skin my shrivelfig…'" she mimicked again in Malfoy's whining prepubescent drawl.

"What happened to leaving the past behind us where it belongs, eh Granger?" he said, recalling her own words from their first meeting. "It's not like you were the picture of perfection back in school either. 'Ooh, ooh I know the answer! Professor, pick me!'" he said, shoving two sugar cubes over his front teeth and frantically waving his arm in the air, doing a buck-toothed impression of a teenaged Hermione.

Before Hermione could even think about forming a retort, Wendy the waitress flew out from behind the counter and rushed over to their table to inquire if Malfoy needed anything else. He hastily removed the now melting sugar cubes from his mouth and with as much dignity as he could muster, politely requested the bill. Hermione nearly died with laughter. Malfoy quickly regained his composure though his cheeks were still tinged slightly pink, while Hermione's laughter continued so long she could scarcely draw breath.

When her laughter finally started to die down, Malfoy placed both of his hands on the table leaning in to her once more, his expression suddenly grave.

"Look Granger, seriously, would you at least consider-"

"My goodness, you two certainly look like you're having a good time," Ginny said, an amused expression playing about her lips and several bulging shopping bags slung over one arm.

"Ginny! Where were you? I thought you'd just gone into the loo…" Hermione couldn't believe that she had completely forgotten about her!

"That was nearly half an hour ago," Ginny replied easily. "I had some shopping to do and you two looked like you were…uh…" she grunted and grasped her stomach as she lowered herself into the booth next to Hermione, "…having a rather intense conversation…" she exhaled slowly, "…so I didn't want to interrupt." When Ginny had finally finished speaking she looked completely winded and rather pale.

"Gin, are you alright?" Hermione asked with concern.

"Yes, but…uh…," she said, exhaling another ragged breath and wincing in pain, "I think my water just broke."

"Oh my god! Is it really time?" Hermione asked excitedly.

"Yeah," Ginny said with another grunt of pain, "I think it is. Hand me my phone, will you? I need to call Harry."

"Sure, okay," Hermione said and started rummaging through Ginny's purse. She held up the little device with slightly shaking hands and dialed Harry's number before placing the phone to Ginny's ear.

"Damn it!" Ginny practically barked after only a few seconds. "It went straight to voicemail."

"It's alright, just dial again and I'll try Ron, they're bound to be together," Hermione said, trying to remain calm while she took out her own cell phone and dialed Ron's number.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was still sitting on the opposite side of the booth staring at them both with a completely dumbfounded expression.

"Voicemail again," Ginny fumed.

"Same here," Hermione said. "They must be playing Quidditch," she reasoned.

"I told him a hundred times to keep his fecking…ow…phone with him at all times…ah!" Ginny cried out, doubling over from the pain of the contraction.

"Ok, take it easy, Ginny…just breath. Everything is going to be fine."

"I'll kill him!" Ginny shouted, slamming her fist on the table. People were starting to stare.

"Why don't we get you to the hospital first and we can worry about killing Harry later, alright? Malfoy, help me get her up," she added, addressing Malfoy for the first time since Ginny's reappearance.

"Shouldn't we call someone? A Mediwizard or…?" Malfoy questioned, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of approaching the now irate Ginny.

"No, we have to get her to St. Mungo's," Hermione said, placing one of Ginny's arms around her shoulder and gesturing for Malfoy to help lift her from the other side.

"Unless you want me to give birth in this café we'd better get out of here in a hurry because if these contractions keep up…aah-oow," she yelled, "I don't know how much longer this kid is going to wait."

"Ok, don't worry about a thing. We're going to get you there in plenty of time," Hermione said as she and Malfoy hoisted Ginny out of the booth and began gathering her things.

"We…we are?" Malfoy said, looking more than a little bit terrified.

"Yes, we are," Hermione said sternly, then addressing Ginny in gentler tones, "I'm going apparate over to the burrow to collect Harry and the rest of the family, while Malfoy here takes you over to St. Mungo's, alright?"

"Al-alright," Ginny stammered, breathing through another painful spasm.

"So…I just have to side along apparate her over to St. Mungo's then?" Malfoy queried, clearly trying to get a handle on the situation.

"No!" both witches shouted at him at once, causing Malfoy to flinch. "Are you daft? She can't apparate while she's in labor!" Hermione chided as she tossed a few coins on the table and bade Malfoy to carry Ginny's shopping. "Even the floo network is too dangerous to attempt after the second trimester."

"Then how the hell do you propose I get her there, carry her on my back?" Malfoy snapped, falling behind the two witches as they exited the café.

"You'll have to take a muggle taxi I suppose," Hermione said, pausing for a moment outside The Daily Brew to get a better grip on Ginny. "She took the Knight Bus to get here this morning, but I wouldn't fancy a ride on that horrid contraption in her condition. Are you coming or what?" she added, looking expectantly at Malfoy who was standing in the doorway of the café looking positively stricken.

"I don't know anything about muggle transportation and I don't have any muggle money. Why don't I go find Potter and Weasley and you take her to the hospital?" Malfoy suggested hopefully, tossing the shopping bags over his shoulder and grabbing Ginny's other arm with his free hand.

"You can't. The burrow is unplottable," Hermione explained as they walked, "and unless Molly or Arthur gave you the address you wouldn't be able to access the house. And even if you could, the Weasley's own a lot of land. Unless you know exactly where the Quidditch pitch is, you'd never find them in time."

"What about that talking patronus thingy that you Order lot used to use? Can't you cast that charm to contact Potter?" Malfoy asked in desperation as he and Hermione guided Ginny down the High Street towards the back entrance of The Leaky Cauldron.

"No, I can't," Hermione said. "I never learned that spell," she added almost sheepishly.

"Well, why the bloody hell not?" Malfoy demanded. "You know practically every other charm ever invented!"

"For one thing it's really complicated, advanced magic," Hermione said defensively, raising her hackles, "and who was supposed to teach me? Kingsley? Or how about McGonagall? Because they were both rather busy rebuilding all of wizarding Britain at the time if you'll recall. Besides, there really wasn't any need for it after the war ended and the lines of comm-"

"As fascinating as I'm sure this is," Ginny interrupted, "some of us are trying to have a baby over here!" she shouted, effectively putting an end to their conversation.

"Right. Sorry, Gin!" Hermione apologized quickly and they continued down the seemingly never-ending main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley.

Hermione tried to keep up a steady stream of encouragement as they walked, while in between bouts of screaming and crying, Ginny was cursing a blue streak and muttering a variety of death threats under her breath. Malfoy had mercifully kept quiet, cowed both by Hermione alternately barking instructions at him and glaring daggers every time he tried to protest and his obvious fear of Ginny who maintained a vice-like grip on his hand. Their unlikely trio was causing quite a stir, even more than was usual in the bustling shopping centre.

Hermione, who was now in full on crisis mode, repeated her instructions to Malfoy one final time before leaving him to care for Ginny on his own.

"You're going to go straight through the pub to the muggle street on the other side, hail a taxi – it shouldn't be that difficult at this time of day – and tell the driver to take you Purge & Dowes on Mare Street, Hackney. It's only about three miles away so it'll be a short ride, no more than fifteen minutes with traffic."

"But…" Malfoy started.

"Will you SHUT UP?" Ginny boomed, causing Malfoy to wobble a bit, "Merlin's sake, he acts like he's the one who's about to push a tiny human through his-"

"Here," Hermione said loudly, when they finally reached the entrance to The Leaky Cauldron, and she shoved two twenty pound notes into Malfoy's fist. "That ought to be more than enough to get you to St. Mungo's from here."

"But I don't know where to…"

"The driver will know how to get us to Hackney and I know how to get in through the visitor's entrance once we get there," Ginny said with a long suffering sigh, before doubling over with the pain of another contraction.

Hermione couldn't imagine a situation where Malfoy would be more out of his element. She was almost sorry she wouldn't be there to witness what was sure to be his first ride in a muggle taxi. The thought gave her a moment's pause.

"You listen here Malfoy," Hermione threatened, "don't you even think about putting her in that taxi by herself. You are to escort her all the way to St. Mungo's and you will not leave her side until a trained Healer takes over. If anything happens to her I will hunt you down myself. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, fine…alright," he agreed grudgingly.

"Geez Malfoy, it's like you've never seen a woman give birth before."

Hermione threw a sideways glance at Ginny. If she wasn't mistaken, Ginny was putting on a bit of show and having some fun at Malfoy's expense. Ginny winked at her. Hermione beamed.

"You're going to be fine Ginny. Remember your breathing. I'll have your idiot husband here in no time, okay?" Hermione said with a reassuring smile, kissing Ginny on her already sweaty forehead.

"Ok, 'Mione. Hurry back," Ginny panted as Malfoy tried to maneuver her and the shopping bags through the back door of the pub at the same time and getting stuck in the process.

"See you soon," Hermione called as she turned on her heel and sprinted toward the nearest apparition point.

She couldn't suppress a smile as she distinctly heard Ginny say over her shoulder, "Relax Malfoy. I do this all the time."

**A/N: Minesweeper aside, I am terribly sorry that it took me this long to update. I promise I am not giving up on this story. The next time I get stuck I think I'll try writing a little one-shot or maybe even start a new story just to get the creative juices flowing again. I'm going to try to get back to some semblance of a regular posting schedule, even if it is (gulp) only once a month. It wasn't only writer's block that was cramping my style for the last few months though… Real life has also been rearing its ugly head from time to time. I'll try not to let pesky things like work and family get in the way of my writing schedule in future **

**To business: The song for this chapter is taken from Landon Pigg's debut album aptly called **_**Coffee Shop**_**. I'd like to reiterate my author's note from the last chapter once more: a little foreshadowing never hurt anybody. (It's almost as awesome as alliteration ) Also, just because **_**we**_** know that they're probably going to wind up together at some point doesn't mean that **_**they**_** know it yet. ('They,' being Draco and Hermione, you know, because talking about them like they're real people is totally normal and not all unhealthy.)**

**Mediwitch/wizard and Healers****: My idea is that a Mediwitch or wizard is akin to a paramedic or a nurse or even a midwife. They have medical training, but are not as well versed in the more advanced healing spells that a Healer would perform. As we all know, Healers are of course similar (though vastly superior) to muggle doctors. **

**Declassification of Hippogriffs as dangerous creatures****: According to **_**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them**_**, the Ministry Classification System deems Hippogriffs to be a XXX – Competent wizards should cope, but for the purposes of this fic I have them classified as XXXX – Dangerous/requires specialist knowledge/skilled wizards may handle. **

**Mega thanks to AidenK77 for being super amazeballs at betaing not to mention a killer research assistant! **


End file.
